


The Right Thing

by dreamsofspike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 73,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9511934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: The Initiative never went away, and ended up getting a real foothold in Sunnydale. Buffy gets recruited to join them, but begins to suspect what they're actually doing, and whether or not it might be more dangerous than any of the monsters they aim to control. Also... they have Spike. A fact about which Buffy has no feelings whatsoever. None. No, really. None at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was the very first Spuffy fanfic I ever wrote, a good 10-11 years ago, and I'm in the process of making sure all my fics are on AO3 so they don't get lost... even if they aren't that good :P
> 
> There are parts of this fic that make me cringe now, because I do feel like I've become a better writer since I wrote this, over the years... but I still want to get them up here, so I do hope you enjoy this, and not JUST in a "this is hilariously bad" kind of way. :P lol

The hot California sun beat down on Buffy’s already bronzed skin, baking it closer to the ever-elusive perfect golden-brown tan. She sighed as the soothing warmth soaked through her, stretching out a little more on her beach towel. *This is the life!* she thought, smiling a little under her closed eyes, as she listened to Dawn’s happy squeals coming from a few hundred yards down the beach, where she was playing in the surf with Xander and Anya.  
  
She realized with contentment that the little nagging worry-voice that had plagued her ever since she had discovered her calling was blessedly silent. *After all,* she pointed out to herself. *What would I have to worry about?*  
  
In the past year since Riley had left to go join the Initiative Version 2.0, in their new location, wherever it was, the crime rate in Sunnydale had gone steadily down, specifically the unexplained murders and missing persons reports. On patrols, the number of vamps and monsters Buffy ran into had steadily decreased until she rarely ran into anything. She still did a quick patrol--most evenings—but never turned up anything. She would have worried that the vampires were simply getting wise to her routines, except for the steadily dropping number of deaths and disappearances.  
  
She remembered the argument she and Riley had had when he had told her he was going back to the Initiative. She had insisted that he was making a stupid mistake, that even under new leadership, the Initiative was going to follow the same path it had before, and surely end in at best failure, at worst another attempted apocalypse. Riley had believed that this was a new start for him and those among his comrades who had joined the Initiative for good reasons, and still wanted to make a difference in the fight against evil. He had argued that this time around, it was going to be different. It was going to work.  
  
*Guess he was right about something after all,* she mused.  
  
Willow and Tara had been taking a leisurely stroll along the beach, hand in hand. They reached her and sat down on their own towels near hers.  
  
“How goes the sunbathing, Buffy?” Willow asked in an exceptionally cheerful voice.  
  
Buffy lifted her sunglasses just long enough to give her a pointed look from under her raised brows. “Wonderful,” she replied, drawing out the word to express just how “wonderful” it was. “How goes the…strolling?”  
  
Willow blushed…or it might have been sunburn…*instant* sunburn?...no, definitely a blush. “Also wonderful,” she admitted with a shy smile, and a quick glance at Tara.  
  
Buffy smiled. It had taken her a little while to get used to the idea of Willow and Tara as a couple, but now it seemed so natural to her. And they were so happy. “Happy” seemed to be the word of the moment. Xander and Anya seemed to be getting more and more serious every day, Willow and Tara were still in the “honeymoon” phase, although they had been officially dating for almost a year now, and Buffy could honestly say she was happy being single, having a little Buffy-time, no boyfriend to have to worry about keeping happy, no vampires to slay...  
  
She was happy. Really.  
  
She enjoyed having free time to just spend with her friends for once. Wasn’t this what she had always wanted? To be able to just be a “normal” girl? Of course, she was still the Slayer, but lately the title seemed to mean less and less. After all, what’s a Slayer with nothing to slay? And shouldn’t she be happy about that? she wondered.  
  
She was. She *was* happy about that!  
  
But deep down, she had to admit, although she never missed it, there was a certain pleasure to be found in slaying. The thrill of the hunt, the sense of power and excitement she got when she felt that slight tingle at the back of her neck that told her that her appointed prey was near; the satisfaction of actually making the kill, and knowing that she had a calling, a destiny, that transcended every other part of her life…  
  
A destiny that had been handily taken over by a group of military types and their high-tech weapons for monster-hunting.  
  
Ok. Maybe she missed the slaying. A little.  
  
The admission to herself made her suddenly feel a little depressed. Standing up and wrapping her cover-up around her waist, she began folding up her towel.  
  
“Leaving, Buffy?” Willow asked with a small frown that was almost-concerned. Only almost, because Tara had just taken her hand, and the frown was warring with an uncontrollable beaming smile.  
  
“Yeah, I’m kinda tired, Will. I think I’ve over-baked myself,” she winced slightly as the towel brushed against her dry over-exposed skin, which was beginning to show just a tinge of pink over the golden brown.  
  
“Ok. We still on for the Bronze tonight?” Willow asked.  
  
“Of course.” Buffy’s smile covered the hint of sadness she was feeling well, she thought. After all, there wasn’t that much to cover up. Just a little sadness.  
  
Loading up her towel, sunscreen and various assorted snacks and other small items into her beach bag, Buffy headed up the beach to the parking lot.  
  
*There’s another perk of not having so much slaying to do,* she reminded herself eagerly. *That shiny little red sports car in the parking lot that belongs to you, which you have a legal license to drive!*  
  
Driving had never been Buffy’s “thing” before, but since the slaying responsibilities had dropped off, she had had the time to really practice and actually get pretty good at driving, and when she had passed her test, her mother had bought her a brand new, shiny red convertible.  
  
*See,* she continued to point out to herself as she turned the key and pulled out of the parking lot. *You wouldn’t have this to enjoy if you were still spending all your free time in cemeteries.*  
  
*Cemeteries…crypts…DON’T GO THERE!*  
  
Buffy turned on the radio to try and head off her thoughts and the scary direction they were trying to take.  
  
She reached her house, let herself in, and went straight to the bathroom, where she dropped her beach bag, stripped out of her swim suit and stepped straight into the shower. The steaming hot water stung a bit on her slightly sunburned skin, but it still felt good, and she took her time getting out. Wrapping herself in a towel, she headed for her room. Her mom was still at the gallery, and Dawn was with her friends at the beach, so the house was empty.  
  
She opened her closet and began running hangers along the rod, searching for something soft and comfortable to wear. She reached the back of the closet without finding anything, but was not really thinking about it anymore. There in the back of her closet was an unpleasantly familiar item.  
  
A long, black leather duster, worn in places from years of use into buttery softness, though torn and ragged in other places from the incredible amount of violence it had been through.  
  
She thought back to the day she had put it here. The day Riley had left, she had found herself, unexplainably, walking through the cemetery where she knew *he* was staying. Without knowing why, she found herself at his door…and found it wide open.  
  
Feeling uncomfortable, knowing that was just wrong, and at the same time wondering why she even cared, she had entered the crypt. There had been no sign of its inhabitant. However, there was a mug of dried blood sitting by his chair; she had grimaced in disgust, while still noting what that meant. It had sat there for days, untouched. Even more disturbing to her—and *why* disturbing, she wondered—was the black leather duster, lying in a heap on the floor.  
  
At that point, she had not seen him since he had fled after helping them defeat Adam and his vile creations in the old Initiative building. Of course, he had also helped *Adam*, and played a significant part in giving them a need to fight at all. Hence the fleeing. In fact, that was her first thought on seeing the deserted state of the crypt. Perhaps he had finally left town, once and for all, fearing retribution from the Slayer and her friends for his betrayal. It seemed like a reasonable explanation.  
  
Until she saw the coat.  
  
There was no way in the world that he would have left the coat there if he was leaving town. Which left only one explanation: he had not left of his own free will.  
  
Over the next few weeks as the new and improved Initiative began to show its worth, its efficiency in dealing with Sunnydale’s undead menace, Buffy had come to the conclusion that he had probably been re-captured by them. Which was no less than he deserved, after what he had done to them. What he had done to her.  
  
Then why did she feel so bereft, when she realized that he was not coming back? Why did she take the coat with her and hang it in her closet when she left the crypt that day? And why, a year later, was she still thinking about that day?  
  
Suddenly irritated with herself, Buffy quickly swept her clothes back in front of the coat, blocking it from her view again.  
  
No, she decided. She didn’t miss the slaying all that much.  
  
And she certainly, definitely did *not* miss him.


	2. Chapter 2

*Just one more quick run through,* Buffy told herself, as she began to retrace her steps back through the dark alleys of Sunnydale’s business district. She had long since quit patrolling in cemeteries, as there were never any newborn vamps around anymore. She now basically stuck to deserted streets and alleys, where what few vamps were left would lie in wait for potential victims.  
  
Nothing tonight. Nothing any night. Nothing ever.  
  
Why did that fact depress her? No vampires = job done = happy Slayer. Right?  
  
Wrong, she admitted to herself with a sigh. No vampires = no job = *bored* Slayer.  
  
Suddenly, to her surprise and relief – relief?!—she sensed a vampire nearby. Looking quickly around, she saw no one but a young man standing near the end of the street ahead of her. Casually she started toward him, acting as if she hadn’t yet noticed him. Just a normal dumb blonde, out for an evening stroll alone through a dark alley. Perfect vampire bait.  
  
The young man turned toward her at the sound of her approaching footsteps – and then took off running. Buffy gave chase, vaguely wondering if vampires had some kind of sixth sense that screamed, “Slayer! Danger! Run!” like her Slayer sense warned her of their presence.  
  
Obviously this particular vamp’s sense were not that acute, after all, she realized, stopping short. He had run them straight into a dead end. Brick walls on three sides, and an itching-for-a-fight Slayer on the fourth.  
  
“New in town?” she smirked. “Next time invest in a street map. Oh wait…never mind.” She frowned, then shrugged and smiled. “Won’t *be* a next time.”  
  
To her disappointment, the vampire did not respond to her witty banter. *Am I losing my touch?* she wondered. In fact, the fledgling before her did not even seem to want to fight her at all. He was looking frantically around for any route of escape. Finding none, he took a few trembling steps backwards, until his back hit the wall, his hands outstretched in front of him defensively…or…pleadingly?  
  
Buffy didn’t want it to be *this* easy. “Come on,” she encouraged her opponent, beckoning with both hands. “You can take me.” She frowned slightly, then corrected, “Well, no you can’t. But you can try! Come on. *Please* try?” She cringed inwardly at the whine on the end of her own words.  
  
*You are pathetic,* she informed herself. *The Slayer, begging a vamp to attack her!*  
  
Well this was obviously not going to be the fight she was hoping for, but she still had her duty to do. Taking out her stake, she advanced on the terrified vampire. As she drew nearer, she frowned. That was odd. He had not vamped out once during the entire encounter; even now as she made her attack, he was still in his human face – and a very nice human face it was, she had to admit. The vampire, who could not have been older than nineteen or twenty when he was turned, had thick, dark, wavy hair and ice blue eyes, fine features that spoke of intelligence and confidence. But this creature was anything but confident – or so it appeared to be.  
  
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She recognized this. This was a ploy, to throw her off her guard, make her feel sympathy for the undead evil thing so she’d let down her defenses – and he could stab her in the back! Er, rather, rip out her throat!  
  
Well, she wasn’t sympathetic! Not a bit!  
  
She moved in quickly, tired of this peculiar confrontation. *Time to end this.* A couple of steps from the vampire she raised her stake to strike.  
  
At the sight of the weapon, the creature finally went into action, aiming a desperate, if poorly-aimed, swing at her face. She ducked back to avoid it, so that it just barely grazed her cheek. The vampire took a step past her – and suddenly dropped to the ground, holding his head and moaning in agony.  
  
Buffy froze, her heart pounding, her head spinning with the realization as all the pieces came together in her mind.  
  
She recognized *this*, too.  
  
As the vampire struggled back to his feet, backing away from her again, she exclaimed, “You have a chip in your head!”  
  
The vamp did a quick double take, then stammered in a voice raspy with lack of use, “H-how did you know that?” He flinched, as if expecting her to strike him.  
  
“I know another vampire who had one,” she explained, her voice soft with memory. “Put in by a group that called themselves the Initiative. Know anything about them?” she asked, eyebrows raised and arms crossed over her chest in her classic Slayer interrogation pose.  
  
If this was indeed an escaped Initiative vampire, she would be faced with the unpleasant task of actually calling the number Riley had left her in case of slayage-related emergencies. She had sworn when he gave it to her that she would never use it; she wanted nothing more to do with the Initiative, ever again. Which was the reason that she *would* call; Buffy could not find it in her to stake a creature that was no harm to anyone, but if this vamp was being pursued by the Initiative, there was no way that she was going to be found harboring him. The Initiative appeared to be doing a decent job of things, this time around, and Buffy preferred not to create any conflict with them. She would call Riley and tell him to come pick up this wayward fledgling.  
  
At the mention of the Initiative, the vampire’s eyes grew wide with fear. “Please!” he whispered, shaking his head and backing away again. “Please don’t make me go back there!”  
  
“No one’s making you go back,” Buffy lied smoothly, making her tone soft and soothing as she slowly maneuvered him so that he was backing toward the wall again, and not toward the open street. She would try a different tactic for once. “I just want to talk to you,” she insisted, stepping cautiously toward him once his escape was cut off.  
  
This vampire was obviously as harmless as Spike had been after the Initiative chip had been implanted – moreso, actually, because this vamp lacked Spike’s experience and intelligence. This alley left too much opportunity for escape, and she had to get to a phone if she was going to call Riley. Against the inner Giles-voice insisting that this was a foolish thing to do, she was going to take him back to her house.  
  
The vampire seemed to realize that she was up to something. He jerked away as she reached toward him, snarling, “Yeah, right! Please! You expect me to believe that the *Slayer* just wants to *talk* to me? What you *want* is to kill me!” It was the first aggression that he’d shown yet, and Buffy found herself actually pleased.  
  
“If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead,” she snapped back, silencing him. *Not the most original line, Buffy,* she shrugged inwardly. *But there’s a reason why it’s overused. It works.*  
  
This time when she moved forward and took him by the arm, he flinched, but did not pull away, as she led him out of the alley and toward her house. He was strangely compliant; he seemed to be used to being ordered about, made to do things. For some reason, it was disturbing to Buffy; she wondered just what sorts of activities the Initiative was engaged in now. Why should it bother her? she wondered. What did it matter what the Initiative did with the vamps, as long as they kept them from hurting people?  
  
Maybe it was just the fact that the boy had yet to vamp out in front of her, Buffy realized. Even when under attack, he had kept his human features. It was making her subconsciously think of him as human.  
  
“Why didn’t you go into game face?” she asked him suddenly as they walked.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Your vampire face. Why didn’t it come out when I attacked you?” she clarified.  
  
“Oh,” he nodded, looking down at the sidewalk. He shrugged as he looked back up at her. “It’s not allowed.”  
  
Now it was Buffy’s turn to go “Huh?”  
  
“If I do, the chip will go off,” he explained.  
  
Buffy was surprised. Spike’s chip had never gone off unless he had actually attempted to hurt someone.  
  
Sensing her confusion, he continued, “They don’t like it. The soldiers. They say it shows rebellion. We’re not allowed to do it except in training.”  
  
“Training?” Now Buffy was even more confused. His answers were just bringing up more questions. But they had reached her front door, so she paused to unlock it. Looking back at him, reluctant to ask, she said in a soft voice, “What’s your name?”  
  
He looked startled for a moment, then responded haltingly, “D-darian.” Upon seeing her puzzled look, he explained, “It’s been a while since anyone’s used it. We all have numbers instead of names.”  
  
*Hostile 17,* floated through Buffy’s thoughts unbidden; she shook her head to clear it and said, “Come in, Darian.”   
  
She gestured for him to go in ahead of her, then led him by the shoulder toward the kitchen. Dawn was in the living room watching television. She jumped up immediately and followed them.  
  
“Mom says no boys allowed while she’s not here,” she said accusingly.  
  
Annoyed, sitting Darian down in one of the kitchen chairs, Buffy said flatly, “He’s not a boy.”  
  
Dawn’s eyes widened, and she came closer to Darian, looking him over obviously and unashamedly. “He’s a vampire?” She frowned skeptically, glancing at Buffy. “He doesn’t look very scary.”  
  
Buffy glanced at Darian and had to agree. In the harsh fluorescent light, she could see that he was painfully thin and drawn. Pale bruises stood out on his ivory skin in several places; he looked like he’d been through hell, and without a bite to eat the whole time.  
  
“Is he your prisoner?” Dawn asked excitedly.  
  
“No…yes,” Buffy nodded decidedly. “He’s my prisoner.”  
  
“Are you going to torture him for information?” Dawn asked eagerly, then without waiting for an answer, “Can I watch?”  
  
Buffy turned to see Darian looking with horrified suspicion at the fascinated thirteen-year-old circling his chair like a shark.  
  
“Dawn, go upstairs,” she ordered, opening the refrigerator door.  
  
“I don’t have to,” Dawn declared, not taking her eyes off Darian.  
  
“Go upstairs or I’ll tell Mom you ate the whole gallon of fudge ripple ice cream by yourself,” Buffy restated her threat.  
  
Without another word, Dawn headed for the stairs.  
  
When Buffy turned away from the refrigerator with a bag of blood in her hand, to meet Darian’s look of horror, she shrugged, “My sister.”  
  
“Slayers have sisters?”  
  
“This one does,” Buffy muttered, sounding none too pleased about it as she cut the corner off the bag and poured its contents into a mug.  
  
“You keep blood in your refrigerator?” Darian asked, eyes wide in surprise, but fastened on the mug in her hand.  
  
Buffy shrugged, *really* not wanting to have that conversation. “Just in case,” she said softly as she put the cup in the microwave. Then she turned and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms and frowning. “Hey! I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions here!” she pointed out. Without her meaning for it to, her frown softened slightly, and she asked with more gentleness than she had intended, “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”  
  
Darian swallowed, his gaze now firm on the microwave door. “Since I got away. Three – no, four days?” he guessed.  
  
As she set the heated blood in front of him, she sat down across from him and watched him for a moment as he drank thirstily, draining the mug in one gulp.  
  
“Thank you,” Darian said softly, giving her a grateful smile. Buffy just looked away. There was a silence, before Darian broke it again. “I’d never been outside the Initiative before…not since I was turned. I didn’t know what to do – how to survive. I’d have died out there if…”  
  
“I’m *not* your savior,” Buffy stated emphatically, hardening her voice deliberately as she stood up. “I wouldn’t *starve* a dog, or any animal. Just because I’m not a heartless monster doesn’t make me your friend.” She wondered if she was saying it more for his benefit or for hers.  
  
Against her will, she was starting to feel sorry for this creature. Apparantly he had never hunted, never harmed a human, not if he had been in the Initiative since he’d been turned. Buffy frowned as the implications of that statement occurred to her. Did that mean he had been turned *inside* the Initiative? She turned to ask him, but he was talking again.  
  
“Still,” he argued, his tone still thankful, giving her a curious look. “You *did* help me, and I’m grateful.” He laughed softly. “My sire said you *were* a heartless monster. He said you held *him* prisoner one time and wouldn’t feed him for days…”  
  
Buffy’s heart dropped, and suddenly she *knew*. Turning quickly back to him she repeated urgently, “Your *sire*? Who’s you sire?”  
  
Darian frowned at her expression. “I don’t know his name. I’ve always only called him ‘Sire’. But the soldiers refer to him by his number—seventeen.”


	3. Chapter 3

The vampire relished the surge of strength flowing through him as he pummeled the object before him mercilessly, releasing a rain of vicious blows upon it. True, it was only a vinyl punching bag, and not the particular soldier’s face that he imagined it to be, but he was still allowed to dream, wasn’t he? He kept pounding until he felt strong enough to tear down the walls of the prison that held him and finally break free.  
  
Too bad the prison was in his head. Literally.  
  
The brick walls that surrounded him were nothing but a show, really. The lock on the outside of the door, a mere insult, a mockery of his powerlessness. He knew, they all knew, that he could break it in an instant if he wanted to. The real prison that held him here was the tiny piece of metal in his head.  
  
Because he also knew that, should he choose to smash the door open and make a break for it, the tracking sensors in the chip would immediately notify his captors of what he had done, and the agony would drop him in his tracks. He would be helpless, too incapacitated by the pain to do anything but wait for them to find him and lock him up again – and certainly not without severe punishment for the attempt.  
  
Only when he felt exhausted to the point of collapse did he finally abandon the punching bag and sink down onto the soft leather of the sofa. The spacious suite that was his living quarters – his cell – was comfortably furnished, ,cleaned for him regularly, and always stocked with a ready supply of blood. But he knew that it was all an illusion, designed to disguise the fact that he was a prisoner here – to make him feel somehow indebted to them, as if he had chosen this. It was an elaborate mind game, really, and he knew it.  
  
Still, he thought, there were less pleasant illusions and much more vicious mind games he could have been subjected to.  
  
He thought back to the first day, the day the illusion had begun to slip into place. Two burly soldier types had come to his crypt. He had made a brief attempt to fight them off that ended in the double punishment of his chip going off, followed by the fists of the soldiers. He had been bound and blindfolded and brought to this underground place, where he had spent hours – days possibly – locked in a small, dark cell, alone, hungry, and increasingly afraid.  
  
As a master vampire, he had had much experience in conquering his fears. But there’s nothing like silent, dark loneliness to revive it. He had plenty of time with nothing to do but think about how helpless he was, and wonder what plans his captors had for him.  
  
So by the time the general had arrived, he had been near enough to terrified to listen to her explanation without interruption. Or rather, he would have been, if he had been someone who was physically capable of listening to someone’s diabolical ranting without interrupting.  
  
She had come to him in the cell, swaggering in with all the arrogant confidence of one so young, thrust suddenly into a position of great power. She had flipped a switch outside the cell before entering, and the dark room had been suddenly flooded with light, making him feel exposed and vulnerable in the sudden brightness.  
  
The first thing he had noticed when his eyes had adjusted to the light was the strikingly beautiful woman who was looking him over appraisingly. She was obviously of Hispanic descent, with long, silky almost-black hair and chocolate-brown eyes. She was only a few inches shorter than he was, with a figure that could not be concealed by the sharp edges of her military uniform.  
  
An arrogant smirk that she could have learned from him on her lips, she had turned to the soldiers flanking her and sneered, “*This* is Hostile 17? The only HST ever to thwart our security systems?” Looking back at him with what could only be described as a leer, she added, “Doesn’t look like much.”  
  
Irritated by her derision, he had put as much menace as possible into his voice as he advanced on her, saying in a slightly suggestive tone, “Looks can be deceiving, love.”  
  
Her smile had widened just slightly in an unsettling way, as she had replied softly, “Can they.” Then without warning she had backhanded him savagely. Her strength was astonishing for a girl her size; that combined with his weakness from not having fed for days, sent him staggering backward, struggling to keep his balance.  
  
After giving him a few moments to recover, to be sure that he could actually hear her, she had continued in that softly authoritative voice, “I am General Serena Cordova, and you will address me as General or Ma’am. And you will speak only when spoken to, Hostile. Is that clear?”  
  
His pride had risen up at that, every part of him loathe to submit. But one look in her eyes told him that he had seriously underestimated the danger in crossing this woman, and submission would probably be wise at this point. Spike had never been one to confuse courage with stupidity, or cowardice with sheer wisdom. He would wait for a better time, a time when he was not chipped, half-starved and surrounded by armed soldiers.  
  
“Yes, *General*,” he had drawled, putting as much derision into the term as possible, as he wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He had had years of experience with Angelus at being respectful in his words and insolent in every other part of his being. The mockery in his voice had been so obvious that he had almost expected her to strike him again. Angelus would have.  
  
But she had just smiled coolly. “I’ll come straight to the point, Hostile 17. Your reputation precedes you, and you have proven your skill and intelligence when it comes to battle, espionage, that sort of thing. It is for that reason only that I am giving you a choice to make.”  
  
That was the first step of the illusion: choice. They both knew he had none.  
  
“Your skills could be very useful for a certain project of mine,” she had continued, her voice calm and level. “I’ve long thought that your kind has tremendous resources to offer us, which are currently being wasted. You have incredible strength, healing restorative powers, not to mention the fact that you are nearly unkillable. I’ve long thought, if such power could be contained – controlled – it could be used for so much good! Imagine – an *army* of vampires – they’d be unstoppable.”  
  
Spike had often imagined just that, though “good” had never had anything to do with his ideas, and in truth he doubted it had much to do with hers, either.  
  
“What I would like you to do for us, Hostile 17,” she went on in that same even, polite tone, “is to assist us in training the vampires we currently have here, and any others we acquire. Training them for battle.” She paused, then continued in a more intimately conversational tone, as if she were talking to a colleague, “The vampires don’t trust us.”  
  
Despite the alarms going off in his mind, warning him of how terribly dangerous this woman really was, he could not suppress his sneer at the sheer obviousness of her statement. But the cruel gleam that came into her eye quickly wiped it from his face as she went on, “You would be able to get through to them better than we can.” She had paused, as if waiting for his answer.  
  
“Please!” he countered, shaking his head in disbelief. “They’ll see me as a bloody traitor is all! They’ll despise me worse than they despise these wankers!” He indicated the soldiers accompanying her with a wave of his hand…before her fist shot out and sent him stumbling back again.  
  
“Bloody hell!” he snarled in rage and pain. “You’ve *been* speaking to me for a soddin’ hour!” He did not understand why she had hit him again.  
  
The general responded calmly, “You will address my men with respect.”  
  
“Bloody hell,” he muttered again, reaching up to gingerly feel his nose. The girl hit like a Slayer.  
  
Going on as if nothing had happened, the general said, “Regardless of how they *feel* about you, you’ll know how to reach them. They’ll all answer to you first. You’ll be their commanding officer. Under all of my…human…officers, of course.”  
  
The anger building in him at the blows he had taken for next to nothing, the way she was just *telling* him what he was “going” to do, until it threatened to overcome his good judgment. “Of course,” he repeated with sarcastic venom in his voice.  
  
The general frowned, her eyes narrowing, glittering with anger. “Of course, if you don’t *want* to help us,” she said in a softly warning tone. “we can’t force you to.”  
  
“No, you’ll just use me for some soddin’ experiment, or simply dust me, or some worse fate you’ll come up with just for me, right?” he spat out.  
  
The general did not deny it; rather smiled in acknowledgement. Now, *that* was just bloody scary!  
  
As the perilous situation he was in finally hit him full force, he tried to keep his voice calm and steady as he replied, “Well…if I *do* decide to help you…what exactly is involved in this job?”  
  
And with those words he outwardly accepted the illusion. But he never would allow himself to actually be deceived by it.  
  
Once he accepted the “offer”, things began to move very quickly. The very next day his chip was reprogrammed to the specifications ordered by General Cordova. It was no longer set to fire only when he tried to hurt a human. Oh, it still did that. But it also fired any time he left his quarters without permission, any time he went into game face, any time General Cordova decided that she *wanted* it to go off! It now was equipped with a manual trigger device which was constantly in her possession.  
  
He quickly learned to do whatever it took not to displease her.  
  
The training part of his job description was the only sometimes enjoyable part. Against his expectations, the “recruits” for the vampire army did not despise him. Torn from familiar surroundings and placed here, he seemed to them someone familiar, a possible ally among enemies. They looked to him for guidance, a fact which did not escape the notice of the former vampire master, whose ultimate goal was still escape – escape followed by vengeance.  
  
Then, a few weeks into his captivity, a soldier showed up at his door with a young man in chains. Shoving him into his suite, he had ordered, “Turn him.”  
  
Shocked and disbelieving, he had called the general first to be sure she had ok’ed it. Upon finding out that the order had indeed come from her, he had enthusiastically carried it out.  
  
The young man had been the first of about a dozen that were brought to him over the course of the next year. He soon discovered the reason for his good fortune. General Cordova needed officers for her vampire army – officers that would not inevitably be killed before all their troops, leaving them leaderless. In other words, non-human officers.  
  
The problem was not a shortage of vampires, but rather a shortage of them with that much potential, intelligence. Most of Sunnydale’s vamps were merely minion material, no more. Somehow the general had found out about his own distinguished Aurelian heritage, and derived, accurately, that vamps sired by him would have more intelligence and potential than most.  
  
At first he enjoyed this particular responsibility. But the longer he was there, the more abuses of power he was witness to, *subjected* to, at the hands of the general and her soldiers, the more it bothered him to do it. It was not so much the turning that bothered him as the fate he was condemning them to by doing it here.  
  
Of course, the vamps he had sired received special treatment. Private quarters, like his, only much smaller of course, education in skills besides simple warfare. He was pleased that he was allowed to have a significant hand in their training and vampire upbringing. The other vamps viewed these few as elite.  
  
But to the humans, they were nothing more than cattle.   
  
He had once viewed humans that way. A lot of things had changed.  
  
Although he was generally better-treated than most of the vamps, lately he had come under suspicion by some of the soldiers, led by General Cordova’s second-in-command, a man he had known before he had come here, and hated the entire time. One of his children had escaped. No one knew how. But they all knew who was the only one to have pulled it off before.  
  
Personally, though he had had nothing to do with it, he was pleased and proud of his childe for his successful escape.  
  
*Just hope he doesn’t run into the Slayer out there,* he thought with a shudder – and an odd fondness. “That bloodthirsty bint will kick his ass!”


	4. Chapter 4

“I am sooo going to kick his ass!” Buffy fumed, pacing around her kitchen with a fervency that made Darian start to feel nervous again. She was starting to look more like the version of the Slayer that his sire had described. “He’s been there the whole time, and I’ve been worrying all this time over…”  
  
“You have?” Darian was surprised.  
  
Wide-eyed, realizing what she had just said, the Slayer frowned and quickly corrected, “W-wondering! Wondering – what – happened. To him.”  
  
Darian smiled, an oddly knowing smile. “He didn’t seem to think you’d care.”  
  
*But that means he mentioned it,* Buffy realized with an unconscious smile…then abruptly stopped smiling. Why *did* she care? she wondered.  
  
Starting to calm down, thinking back to an earlier statement he had made, she sat back down at the table. “So…he sired you…*in* the Initiative?”  
  
“Yeah. These soldiers just took me off the street. I remember I was on my way to my pre-med classes. They said they needed to question me, that I was to come with them. They were in uniform and all, I – I didn’t think I had a choice. They put me in cuffs, and I asked them if I’d done something wrong. They wouldn’t answer me at all. It was – really creepy.” He shuddered, and Buffy suppressed a laugh at the notion of this *vampire*, creeped out by a couple of humans in uniform.  
  
Darian continued, “They took me to his suite, and…and he turned me.” His voice trailed off, a distant expression on his face. “Not much of a story,” he admitted with a forced laugh.  
  
“I knew it!” Buffy exclaimed, causing Darian to jump as she stood up again. “So there, Riley, I *told* you the Initiative was still evil!” Suddenly she frowned. “Riley! I wonder if he knows about this army-making-vamps thing?”  
  
“L-lieutenant Finn, Ma’am?” Darian asked hesitantly.  
  
Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise as she turned back to him. “You know him?”  
  
Darian’s eyes were filled with a fear that made Buffy feel suddenly very sick. “Y-yes, Ma’am,” he repeated again, softer. “And h-he knows about the turning. He – pretty much knows everything that goes on there – he’s – second-in-command of the whole place!”  
  
Buffy was shocked into silence. “H-he knows? But – but Riley’s…” She shook her head. Riley? Riley who had probably never even pulled a tag off a mattress Riley? How could he be involved with something as sinister as an army group turning humans into vampires?  
  
Standing decisively, Buffy reached for the phone, ,taking Riley’s emergency number from the kitchen drawer where she had stashed in months ago, back when she was certain that she would never actually use it.  
  
After two rings, a professional-sounding female voice said vaguely, “Customer service, can I help you?”  
  
“Lieutenant Riley Finn, please. This is Buffy Summers,” she said, as Riley had instructed her. He had let her know that his staff would know her name and know that she was to be put through immediately if she called. She wasn’t sure how she felt about having that much permanent importance in his life.  
  
But before she consider it, really the moment the words left her mouth, Darian had bolted from his chair and toward the door.  
  
Dropping the phone and employing her Slayer-speed, she managed to be blocking the door before he could reach it. Gripping his arm, she dragged him back to the chair and slammed him none-too-gently back down into it.  
  
Leaning into his face, putting on her best menacing glare, she said, “I said I didn’t want to kill you. Don’t make me change my mind.” She stood up straighter. “I’ll tie you up if I have to,” she added.  
  
She could hear a muffled voice coming from the dropped receiver as she picked it up.  
  
“Buffy?” The familiar voice sent an odd feeling through her. Not a thrill exactly; even in their best moments, Riley had never exactly thrilled her.  
  
“Riley,” she said, keeping her voice level. Glancing at Darian, whom she was still pinning to the chair with one strong hand on his shoulder, she saw him flinch as she said the name. Against her better judgment, irritated that she even cared, she covered the receiver with her hand and reassured him in a whisper, “I’m not going to turn you in.” And she realized with only slight surprise as she said it that she actually meant it.  
  
Shoot. Riley had asked her a question. “I’m sorry, what?” she asked distractedly.  
  
Riley laughed awkwardly. “What’s going on over there? Who are you threatening to kill and tie up?” He paused then added thoughtfully, “Hopefully not in that order.”  
  
“Oh, um, my…sister,” Buffy said, she hoped convincingly. It sounded reasonable enough to her.  
  
Riley laughed. Good. He thought she was joking. Buffy laughed.  
  
God, this was awkward!  
  
“So, um, Buffy,” Riley said finally. “What’s up?”  
  
“Um…I’ve been thinking, Riley,” Buffy finally replied. “I’d – I’m thinking about taking you up on that offer you made when you left.”  
  
There was silence on the other line for a moment. Then Riley spoke, sounding excited. “Buffy, really? I mean, that’s awesome!”  
  
“I’m *thinking* about it, Riley,” Buffy cautioned him. “I haven’t decided anything yet. You know how it went last time I joined up. I want to come check out your operation first; be sure this is what I really want before I make a decision.”  
  
“Oh. Ok, yeah, that should be fine, Buffy. The new commander here is actually dying to meet you. She was really disappointed last year when I told her you didn’t want to join us,” Riley informed her.  
  
“Yeah, well,” She was sooo uncomfortable with this conversation! “been there, done that, didn’t much care for the logo on the T-shirt. You know, the one that said, ‘Let’s assassinate the Slayer’?”  
  
Uncomfortable silence. “I know, Buffy, but it’s different now. You’ll see,” Riley insisted. “When do you want to come?”  
  
When she hung up the phone, she had set up plans to go see the Initiative compound the next day. Riley and a couple of his men would come to her house and pick her up. Immediately upon hanging up she dialed her friends. They needed to meet right away. Once it was decided that they would meet at her house in an hour, she turned around again to face Darian, who was still watching her dubiously.  
  
“I’m not gonna turn you over to them,” Buffy repeated impatiently. “Stop looking at me like that!”  
  
“You’re just going to *join* them,” he corrected with a biting sarcasm in his voice that was now painfully familiar to her, now that she knew just where he had picked it up.  
  
“Um…no…” she said in a slow, patronizing voice, then muttered under her breath what sounded like “stupid vampire!” Aloud she said, “If they’re doing what you say they are, I’m gonna bring them down. Even if I have to do it from the inside.”  
  
  
The door to Spike’s suite swung open, and he stood up immediately. In this place, he never knew what was coming, and it couldn’t hurt to be ready. A soldier carelessly flung a battered, bleeding fledgling toward him. The childe stumbled a few steps, then collapsed to the floor.  
  
“Take care of it,” the soldier ordered coldly, and slammed and bolted the door.  
  
He sighed wearily as he approached the trembling, sobbing fledgling. This was not an uncommon thing, for a beaten, devastated childe of his to be brought back to him for care; after all, the fledglings *were* “officer material” – even if the humans were allowed to beat them like dogs, and could not be bothered afterward to clean up the mess they had made. But this childe was different, held a special regard with him.  
  
This was his only daughter.  
  
He had been shocked when they had first brought her to him. The Initiative did not seem aware of equal opportunity laws. He had only been made to turn young men before – never a girl. She had been trembling, terrified, and he was stunned by her beauty, even panicked and sobbing. Ok, he *was* a vampire -- *especially* panicked and sobbing!  
  
But the thing that had caught his attention was how much she looked like *her*. And perhaps that was why, in spite of the fact that it went against his very nature, he had found himself trying to calm her. Her name was Diana, and she had just been walking home from a club she had frequented with her friends, when the soldiers had taken her, she told him. He had somehow managed to get her to stop crying and relax a bit; she had been exhausted and overwrought and had actually fallen asleep in his arms. Then, wondering why he bothered, he had been as gentle as possible in following his orders, and she had slept through the whole thing.  
  
When she had awoken, she had punched him in the face – a rather nasty surprise, as *he* had still been sleeping at the time!  
  
Oh yes, she was *very* much like *her*!  
  
But of course, she was no Slayer, only a newborn fledgling, and he managed to quickly subdue her, and then begin the process of calming her again. He had told her that it wasn’t so bad, she was special, because she was his, and would have a fate better than most of the others here because of it. She would have a position, and would be as fortunate as a vampire could be in this miserable place. All the while he had felt like a sell-out for trying to convince her that it would be ok, just to keep her from hating him for what he had done to her.  
  
The first time they had brought her back to him, he had felt like worse than a sell-out. He had felt like a liar and an utter failure as her sire. Because he realized at that point with a sick sense of shock just what he had turned her for.  
  
Some soldier had taken a fancy to her on the outside, but as a human she had had none of it. It seemed this soldier was someone of importance, and had privileges the others did not, because to his complete surprise, the order to turn her had indeed come from the general herself. But the truth hit him almost as hard as the primal rage that followed in its wake: she had been turned to be some soldier’s personal plaything!  
  
Eventually through her tearful descriptions and details here and there, he had figured out who the soldier was. Then it all fit – her striking resemblance, the reason that it had been allowed at all…  
  
Her human “master” was Lieutenant Riley Finn.  
  
When the door had opened hours after she had been brought to him, it had been Lieutenant Finn himself who had come for her. At the sight of his childe, trembling and cowering from this miserable human, Spike had heedlessly given vent to his rage, hurling himself upon the startled lieutenant and ripping quite a vicious gash in his throat, draining him so much that he passed out, before the chip fired enough to take his own consciousness.  
  
When he had awakened, the first thing he thought was that whatever the general had done to the chip, it had made it much more painful than it used to be. The second thing he had noticed was that the general was standing over him. Before he had time to register the third thing – the tiny device in her hand – the chip had fired again, with cruel, excruciating intensity.  
  
And kept firing. For an hour.  
  
When it was finally over, and the tremors that shook his agonized body had subsided enough to allow him to process her words, the general had warned him that if he ever, *ever* attacked a soldier again, it would not be an hour.  
  
It would be a day.  
  
With a new seething hatred in his heart for both her and Finn, he had helplessly gone on watching Diana be abused day after day, sometimes so badly that she would be brought to him to care for her, like this time. He wondered with disgust what the Slayer would think of her wholesome, corn-fed Iowa boy if she saw where his obsessions truly lay. He realized a second later that she would surely be as disgusted as he was.  
  
She must have fought him this time, he observed as he tended to her injuries, various scrapes and numerous bruises. She clung to him, begging him wordlessly to make her suffering stop. And his helpless rage continued to build.  
  
One day he would loose it upon this place, starting with Finn.  
  
When the soldier arrived to take Diana back to her quarters, he leered openly at her beautiful body, partially exposed beneath her torn clothing. “She looks better,” he noted suggestively, looking her up and down.  
  
Before he knew what he was doing, Spike had gripped the soldier’s collar and jerked him toward him menacingly. But he stopped there – just short of an actual attack.  
  
The soldier’s smile faded quickly; then he smirked at him, glancing derisively at the hand fisted in his shirt. But Spike could see the fear that was still in his eyes; he could smell it on him.  
  
But when the soldier pulled free with a sneer, brushing his collar straight again, he let him and took a step back. When the door closed, he put his hand to his head and braced himself with a hand against the door, trying to get his temper back under control.  
  
He had not attacked the soldier. Not really. Still, he knew he would be getting a visit soon. He had to get a grip on his rage if he was going to survive this place.  
  
Or, he could release it – and this place would not survive him!


	5. Chapter 5

Only half an hour passed before the door to the suite swung open again. Spike was pouring himself a cup of blood as General Cordova strode into the room as if she owned the place – well, she did, technically, he realized grudgingly, but still resented the invasion of his space.  
  
She walked over to him, her pleasant expression hardening a bit at his failure to acknowledge her presence at all. Still she spoke in a very calm voice when she began, “You gave Sergeant Conners a bit of a scare.”  
  
“Vampire, here. Bloke can’t handle that, might wanna find another bloody job!” he snarled, putting the cup in the microwave, not turning to face her.  
  
A lot had changed during the past year. Gradually the general had developed a somewhat grudging respect for the experience and intelligence of the master vampire, and because of it was tolerant of his often volatile moods – to a point, and only in private. Oh, if there was anyone else there, the speak-when-spoken-to, come-to-attention, absolute obedience rules still applied, and the few times he had forgotten himself had resulted in swift, savage, and usually public punishment. After all, she told him, if he was allowed to disrespect her, the other vamps would follow suit. Usually, when they were alone, however, she allowed him to speak freely to her, provided he maintained a certain level of respect.  
  
He knew that tonight he was in serious danger of crossing that line.  
  
“Might I ask what he did to offend you?” General Cordova asked, her voice softening, with a hint of a threat that he would have noticed had he not been so bloody furious.  
  
Spike was silent. He didn’t know how to explain to the general in a way she would find acceptable how the soldier’s mere look at his childe had set him off. He shook his head, still fuming, and took a sip from the cup in his hand.  
  
“Let me rephrase that,” the general went on. “*What* did he do to offend you?” A direct question. That meant he had to come up with an answer.  
  
“I’m just bloody sick to death of these soldier boys looking at her like she’s a soddin’ piece of meat is all!” he finally exploded, slamming his fist down on the counter. He turned to face her, eyes blazing with fury. Pointing an accusing finger to emphasize his point he declared, “If they tried to treat a bloody human like they treat her, they’d be in prison for the rest of their miserable lives!”  
  
The general was silent for a moment. Then she replied in that same calm, even voice, “But she’s not a human.”  
  
As if that settled it.  
  
Frustrated rage surging through him, he struggled to maintain his temper, and just barely failed. Starting off low and intense, but his voice rising with each word, he said, “Well I’m not going to tolerate it anymore, I’m her sire, and it’s my duty to protect her, and the next git that so much as looks at her wrong’s gonna get his soddin’ throat ripped out!”   
  
The general’s eyes were hard with anger, but she still did not retaliate against him. She merely pointed out calmly, “And you know where that would leave you. Don’t you?”  
  
“I don’t care,” he muttered, looking away.  
  
“You really should, Hostile,” General Cordova’s voice was suddenly as hard as her eyes, and he looked up at her quickly, thinking that maybe he should try to gain some control of himself.  
  
But this little rant just felt too bloody good.  
  
The general continued, “I realize that you are her sire, and that carries a relationship I really can’t comprehend.” Her tone was slightly derisive, feeding his anger. “As much as you would like for it to be, Diana’s fate is not in your hands. You will accomplish nothing by making a rash mistake like that.”  
  
“Not in my hands,” he repeated scornfully. “What bloody well is? My childe’s fate is in the hands of that wanker, Finn, who’s just using her as a soddin’ stand-in to work out his personal issues about not being man enough to handle a real woman!”  
  
General Cordova’s voice was sharp when she interrupted, “Diana’s fate is in *my* hands, Hostile, and it would be to your benefit to remember your place before you…”  
  
“Your hands, eh?” he interrupted, turning toward her furiously. “Well I’ll say this, if you expect me to even *show up* for that bloody training session in the morning, you’d better bloody well…”  
  
That was as far as he got before the chip fired, hard, dropping him to his knees, doubled over in agony, though he still maintained enough pride to force back the scream that rose to his lips. She kept the punishment going for a couple of minutes before making it stop.  
  
He was taking deep unnecessary breaths, trying to recover from the pain, as she stepped closer, standing over him, glaring down impassively. “Get up,” she ordered.  
  
He knew he had to obey, and awkwardly used the counter behind him to pull himself back to his feet. He stood as straight as he could through the remnants of the pain, trying to at least appear as if he was paying attention to her.  
  
Drawing herself very close to him, her eyes flashing flames, she said slowly, pointedly, “As I was saying about your *place*, Hostile. Is it your place to tell *me* what I’d ‘better’ do?”  
  
Swallowing hard, he said softly, “No, Ma’am.”  
  
“Is it your place to tell me what *you* are going to do?” The cold smile on her lips told him that she was enjoying his humiliation.   
  
He swallowed back the fury that would have had him lunge for her throat then and there – and would have cost him his life – and replied again through gritted teeth, “No, Ma’am.”  
  
“And is it your place, Hostile, to insult an officer of this operation, my second-in-command, because you don’t like what he does with his property?” Her eyebrows raised in anticipation of his response.  
  
His jaw worked with his anger at hearing Diana once again referred to as Finn’s “property”, and being forced to acknowledge it. But his year among these army types had if nothing else taught him a measure of self-control, and he knew he would accomplish nothing by refusing to give her the answer she required. His voice very low and full of hatred he replied, “No. Ma’am.”  
  
The general’s smile widened at her triumph. “Good. Just so long as we’re clear. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said pointedly, and turned and walked out, leaving him to his cooling mug of blood and his enthusiastic planning of the various ways in which he could painfully kill her.  
  
  
When the doorbell rang, Buffy nearly jumped out of her skin. “Oh, God. They’re here,” she said to Willow, her eyes wide with apprehension.  
  
Taking her hands and looking at her seriously in an attempt to help calm her, Willow said earnestly, “It’s ok, Buffy. You can do this. You are Buffy Summers, vampire slayer and super-spy!”  
  
“Shh!” Buffy said in an agonized whisper, looking toward the door as if they could hear her friend from the front porch.  
  
“Buffy,” Willow gently said, giving her a look.  
  
“I know, I know. Ok. Calming down now,” Buffy assured her with a nod. “Ok, I’d better answer that, hadn’t I? Now that I’m – calm, and all.”  
  
Willow nodded apologetically.  
  
“Go on down to the basement and be sure Darian stays there,” Buffy told her, and Willow did as she asked.  
  
Buffy had had a difficult time deciding what to do with the chipped vampire whom she had promised would not be turned back over to the Initiative. She couldn’t just let him go, because if the Initiative *did* catch him again and found out about her connection to him, it could ruin her plan. Also, though she hated to admit it, she felt a certain compassion for the helpless creature, and knew that on his own in Sunnydale, with that chip in his head, he wouldn’t last a day.   
  
Fortunately, Willow had told her about a spell she had recently perfected that was sort of like the opposite of a de-invite spell. It was a sort of a vampire containment spell that kept Darian *in* the house. When Willow had informed her months before of the idea, Buffy had secretly wondered what use that sort of thing could ever be; who would want to keep a vampire *in* their home? Now, however, she was grateful to not have to watch him every moment.  
  
Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, Buffy opened the door. There was Riley, flanked by two uniformed soldiers.  
  
He looked at her for a long moment before saying softly, “Hey, Buffy.”  
  
She looked back, stunned by the emotion she saw in his eyes – stunned and a little disconcerted. Shouldn’t *she* feel something, too? But oddly enough, she found that she didn’t, not really. God, had he meant that little to her? “Hey, Riley,” she finally thought to reply, stepping aside to wordlessly invite him in.  
  
“Are you ready?” he asked, looking a little uncomfortable, and suddenly she felt very uncomfortable as well. “Cause I mean, your appointment with the general is at…”  
  
“I’m ready. Of course,” Buffy assured him, stepping outside and closing the door behind her. She was actually relieved that he had refused her offer to come in; it spared her extra awkward small talk. “Let’s go,” she said, stepping toward the dark blue SUV parked in her driveway.  
  
She noticed the two soldiers accompanying Riley talking quietly together. They seemed to be arguing about something. Then the one who apparently had lost the argument stepped toward her, clearing his throat nervously.  
  
She raised her eyebrows in a question.  
  
“Uh, Ma’am, obviously our operation is strictly classified, and its location has to be a complete secret, so…usually anytime someone visits from outside, they…they wear a blindfold on the way there and back s-so that the location stays a secret,” the young soldier managed to stammer out.  
  
Buffy’s lips twitched upward in a smirk as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m *not* putting on a blindfold,” she declared.  
  
“It’s policy, Ma’am,” the soldier argued, sounding more uncomfortable.  
  
“You’re welcome to *try* to put it on me,” Buffy flashed him a huge, deceptively bright smile, and beside her Riley suppressed a laugh, before stepping in to rescue the hapless soldier.  
  
“I think we can bypass that particular policy in this case, soldier,” he said with a tone of quiet authority that surprised Buffy. He sounded so much more sure of himself than he had last time they’d seen each other. Of course, the last time they had seen each other, everything he’d built his life on had just fallen apart and he’d been struggling to pick up the broken pieces…but still, he seemed to have developed a firm self-assurance that Buffy found a little unsettling, for some reason.  
  
“Yes, Sir,” the soldier replied with obvious relief, and got into the SUV in the back with the other young man. Buffy sat in the passenger seat next to Riley. The silence during the ride was deafening. *Awkward,* Buffy thought for the thousandth time since her call to Riley the day before. *Well, here goes nothing.*  
  
  
Spike had just drifted off into an uneasy sleep when the alarms in the hall outside his suite drew him back to wakefulness. He jumped up and went to look out the windows into the hallway. Several armed soldiers were hurrying through the halls, looking very serious and upset.  
  
Suddenly his door burst open, and the general herself stood there before him, an extremely displeased expression on her face.  
  
Cautiously, unsure of what the situation was, Spike took a step backward.  
  
The general allowed herself a small smile at that. “Please, Hostile,” she sneered, her fingers in her pocket obviously running over the device she kept there. “Like that would do you any good…*if* that was why I was here.”  
  
For the hundredth time that day, Spike fought back his anger at her condescending tone, while still realizing that she was right. Distance was no defense against the circuitry in his head. “What’s happened?” he asked her quietly, when he realized that it was nothing he had done.  
  
Her smile was sarcastic as she replied, “It seems your beloved childe…our little miss Diana…took a cue from her brother and has decided to attempt escape.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Well bloody good for her!” Spike sneered at the general, turning his back to her.  
  
“No. It won’t be,” the general countered in a threatening tone, moving around to face him. She smiled cruelly, “Bloody maybe. Not so good. Not for your girl.”  
  
“Well if Darian made it out, maybe she will too,” he shrugged, feigning unconcern in his tone, but his wide triumphant smile at her said otherwise.  
  
Furious, she slapped him across the face, hard. The blow merely stung; but its purpose had been more to “put him in his place” than to actually hurt. Fighting his impulse to just haul off and slap her back, he waited silently for what she would say. He did not wait long.  
  
“This is very serious, Hostile,” she snapped. “Lieutenant Finn believes that you had something to do with Darian’s disappearance. And while the smart thing would be to do as he suggests and simply eliminate you completely, I am reluctant to do so without evidence.”  
  
His smile became a smirk as he turned his smoldering blue eyes on her and said slowly, surely, “Because you need me.”  
  
He saw in her eyes that he was right, and that she knew it, and…oh bollocks. A moment later a searing pain ripped through him with vicious intensity, and he clutched at the wall behind him to stay on his feet; she would not have him on his knees again!  
  
As the pain ebbed, she leaned in close and said, smiling, “Not as much as you’d like to think.” She paused, then went on, “You’ll come with me now. The facility is locked down; she can’t get out. You will help me find her.”  
  
Disbelief in his eyes, he snarled, “I bloody well will not! You’re out of your bleedin’ mind!”  
  
The general hit the button again, and this time the pain was so intense that he could not stay on his feet no matter how hard he try, and against his will ended up on his knees.  
  
Just then there was a knock at the door. Still pressing the button down, not taking her eyes off the object of her wrath, she opened the door and acknowledged the young soldier who stood outside.  
  
“Yes, private.”  
  
“She’s arrived, General Cordova.”  
  
The general paused, still holding the button down, as her victim shook with agony on the ground at her feet. Then she sighed wearily and released the button. “Have her and Lieutenant Finn in my office at once. I will be along in a moment. Dismissed.”  
  
The soldier walked away, as she crouched down beside Spike’s trembling form. The aftershocks of the chip’s punishment were still racking his body with pain, but still he struggled to pull himself up, unable to speak yet, but glaring defiantly into her eyes. He was completely silent, determined not to let her hear him cry out, no matter how severe the pain was.  
  
She watched him for a moment, aware of this and troubled by it. The vampire was getting too cocky; something needed to be done to take him down a notch or two. But it would have to wait. Smiling coolly down at him, she said softly, “I’ll be back soon. Try to have seen some reason by then.”  
  
  
Despite their rather awkward breakup, Buffy would have thought that Riley’s presence would have made her feel at least a little more at ease, as familiar face in these strange surroundings. But for some reason, Riley did not even seem familiar anymore. He seemed as much a stranger to her as any of the random soldiers they passed on the way to General Cordova’s office.  
  
By the time they arrived, the general was seated behind her huge oak desk. She stood when they entered, smiling politely as she shook Buffy’s hand.  
  
Buffy was surprised by her on several levels. For one thing, she was young, maybe only a few years older than Buffy. And pretty. Buffy had not expected that. Also very – nice. She was very friendly to Buffy, and her eyes were warm; she seemed like the polar opposite of Maggie Walsh. In spite of herself, Buffy found that she was inclined to like General Cordova.  
  
*Evil general,* she reminded herself. *General turning people into vampires!* But being on more friendly terms with this Initiative leader than she had been with the last one could work in her favor, she thought.  
  
The first step of her plan, though she didn’t really have much of one yet, was just to get into the Initiative herself. She highly doubted that she would see much the first day; her goal was just to be accepted so that she would be in a position to find out more. For that reason she had decided that she would do her best to pretend to agree and be impressed with whatever she was told about the Initiative’s current projects.  
  
“Lieutenant Finn tells me you are interested in joining us,” the general smiled encouragingly as she spoke.  
  
Buffy nodded. “Yes, that’s right.” She kept her tone open and positive.  
  
“If I might ask, Ms. Summers, what changed your mind about joining us?” the general asked, curiosity in her dark eyes. “You seemed so against it last year.”  
  
“Well, you’ve obviously done an excellent job keeping the vamp population down,” Buffy acknowledged. “I guess I just wanted to see how it would go before signing on.”  
  
“Smart woman,” General Cordova nodded her approval. “After the disaster that the former operation turned out to be.”  
  
General Cordova spent the next fifteen minutes or so asking Buffy about her slaying activities, and seemed very impressed by what she heard. *Déjà vu,* Buffy thought. *Let’s just hope this one doesn’t try to kill me!* Then the general started explaining to Buffy a little about the activities they performed there, and Buffy tried to focus her attention.  
  
“We’ve done extensive research with the behavior modification chip technology and impulse control,” she said. She gave Buffy an odd smile and said, “Lieutenant Finn tells me you are somewhat familiar with this technology?”  
  
Wondering how much Riley had told this woman about what *she* knew, Buffy cautiously replied, “A little. I had brief contact with a vamp who had one.”  
  
“I see,” General Cordova said mildly. “And that would be the hostile who was assisting Dr. Walsh’s…abominable creation…in the massacre last year?” General Cordova’s face was a mask of disgust.  
  
Buffy quickly put on her own mask. She did not want the general to think that she was on friendly terms with a vampire, especially Spike. Maybe she could even get some information out of this if she played her cards right. “That would be the one,” she said, putting as much anger and disgust into her tone as possible. It wasn’t hard. “That’s one vamp I’d love to get my hands on! He almost got me killed! I never did get to…*thank* him for that!”  
  
The general’s smile widened a little and her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Really,” she said softly. “Well, you just might get your chance signing on here. He’s one of the hostiles we’ve contained.”  
  
Buffy made herself sound shocked. “Really?” she said. She put a speculative smirk on her face. “That could be interesting.”  
  
General Cordova was considering what the Slayer’s intense dislike for Hostile 17 could mean regarding her little situation with the vampire’s recent bad attitude, when there was a knock at the door.  
  
The young soldier who came in wanted to speak privately with the general for a moment, so she sent Riley to take Buffy on a tour of the facility, while she talked with him. Buffy thought as they walked away, although she couldn’t hear the words spoken, that the general looked very pleased by the soldier’s news.  
  
  
Once again, the door to Spike’s suite opened unexpectedly. He had long since recovered from the general’s cruel punishment earlier, and lounged insolently on the sofa, not even bothering to get up when she came into the room. He expected her to order him to attention, or maybe just glare and look disapproving, but she just smiled – which was vaguely troublesome.  
  
“Come with me,” she ordered softly.  
  
“I’m not helping you find Diana,” he reminded her.  
  
“I know,” she said, her voice calm and even. “Come on, Hostile.”  
  
Hesitantly, not sure what was going on here, he followed her out of his room and down a couple of hallways, until they stopped before a door. She turned to him and smiled. “There’s something in here I’d like you to see,” she said, opening the door and gesturing for him to go in ahead of her.  
  
Very uneasy and suspicious of this situation, but really not having a choice in the matter, he walked through the door.   
  
The sight before him made him sick with fear and rage. She had not needed him to help find Diana.  
  
They had found her.  
  
She was facing him, in the center of the room, bound by heavy chains suspended from the ceiling. Her wrists were bleeding where the chains cut into her flesh, and she was dressed in only her undergarments. She was chained just slightly too high, so that her feet could just barely touch the ground, and she moaned with the pain of it. A soldier stood behind her with a cruel smile on his face, brandishing a leather horsewhip.  
  
She seemed almost feverish with pain, but her eyes opened briefly, and found him, pleading silently for the protection he owed her as her sire. Unthinking, furious, he lunged forward, headed for the soldier with the whip. Before he could take two steps the chip had fired, not too hard, but enough to stop him for just long enough for two burly soldiers to take his arms and pull him back. He tried to fight them off, but his efforts only caused the chip to fire again.  
  
“Let her go!” he snarled, oblivious to the pain, glaring at the general, enraged. “Let her go or I’ll rip your bloody throats out!”  
  
The general approached him with a cold smile on her face. “No, you won’t, hostile,” she said softly. “You can’t. It’s time you learned the limits of what you can and can’t do around here.” She paused. “If you’d been a bit more respectful and helpful, I might be inclined to show a bit of mercy in this case, because she’s your childe. But as things stand…being your child is not something that’s working in her favor at the moment.” She gave him a moment to take that in before walking slowly across the room to stand near the soldier with the whip. Shooting Spike one more vicious smile, she gave the order for the beating to begin.  
  
  
Buffy was walking down the hall with Riley, feeling quite bored with the tour, room after room after room. *Here’s a research lab, and here’s another research lab, and this room here…that’s another research lab…* She sighed, and just when she was about to ask him if there were any rooms here used for anything besides research, a muffled roar was heard from just down the hall.  
  
She glanced at Riley wide-eyes for a moment – finally, some excitement! – before she hurried down the hall toward the sound.  
  
“Buffy!” Riley called anxiously. “Wait!”  
  
But he should have known by now, she thought. She didn’t take instruction very well.  
  
“You’re all going to die screaming!” Spike raged as the whip fell again and again across Diana’s back. “I’ll kill you all! Let her go! Let me go!” He was nearly beside himself with fury.  
  
Suddenly, a door across the room behind the general opened…and had his heart still beat, it would have stopped.  
  
*Slayer!* Then a second thought, bitter and disgusted. *Took her look enough to figure it out! Stupid bint!*  
  
Even as he wondered what she was doing here, hope rose in him for a moment; surely the Slayer would see the injustice, the cruelty of this. Surely she would stop it. He fought with the niggling thought reminding him that Diana *was* a vampire and the Slayer might simply not care. But then, she had declined to stake him when he was helpless and she had had the chance. Surely she would help.  
  
But his hopes sank as she approached the general, spoke with her for a moment, then smiled and simply watched the proceedings with her.  
  
His rage now had a new strength as he watched her simply accept this brutal scene. Well, he was not going to accept it. Not for another bloody moment. Steeling his body to fight through the inevitable pain, he pulled his arm free with a violent jerk and dropped the soldiers holding him with two quick blows.  
  
  
Buffy stood in stunned silence beside the general, her heart pounding with so many different emotions at once. It had been all she could manage to return the general’s calm smile after receiving her explanation. This vampire had attacked a soldier, nearly killed him, Cordova had said. This was her punishment.  
  
Buffy thought staking would have been more humane. But she somehow managed not to show her disapproval. And then her eyes had moved past the battered, pitiful sight in the middle of the room and out to take in the whole scene.  
  
And she found the source of the roaring she had heard.  
  
Spike.  
  
*Oh, God,* she thought, her eyes widening as he jerked free of the soldiers restraining him. Her first thought was that his chip had malfunctioned; she readied herself to go into slay-mode. Regardless of what she thought of these people’s actions, they *were* people, and if Spike started killing she would stake him without hesitation.  
  
But then she saw his face contort with pain, even as he hurled himself across the room at the soldier wielding the whip. But instead of going for the man’s throat, he snatched the weapon from his hand and struck him a quick, hard blow to the head, knocking him out cold before he could react. Cringing in pain, he turned to face the general, eyes blazing with hatred.  
  
Then for one brief moment, those hate-filled eyes leveled on Buffy, and his lip curled up in a sneer of disgust. Buffy froze; her heart felt as if it had stopped. And suddenly, she was filled with such shame that she wanted to sink through the floor, anywhere to escape the accusation in those eyes.  
  
But then he focused back on the general as he snapped the weapon into three pieces and hurled it to the floor. His voice low, guttural with animal rage, he addressed the general.  
  
“Cut. Her. Down.”  
  
The general’s lips formed a cruel smile. She took a small device from her pocket and turned a dial on it. Before Buffy could even wonder what it was for, Spike had dropped to the ground in unspeakable agony, gasping for unnecessary breath as spasm after violent spasm shook his body. It seemed to go on forever, and just when Buffy thought she would have to drop her act, it finally stopped.  
  
The general walked slowly toward him, looking down at him in contempt. He was trying to rise, despite the devastating pain still coursing through his body. The general leveled a savage kick to his face.  
  
“Stay down,” she ordered, as if he were no more than a misbehaving dog.  
  
Buffy fought her impulse to attack this woman herself. *The plan. The plan. Think of the plan. Can’t help him like this. Think of the plan,* she told herself.  
  
Suddenly the general looked at Buffy appraisingly, as an idea occurred to her. Turning to two of her men, she ordered, “Take him to the solitary confinement cell.” As they moved to obey her, she turned to Buffy with a smile.  
  
“Would you still like your chance to…er…*thank*…Hostile 17, Slayer?” she asked, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. She was certain that she had just come up with the perfect punishment for her rebellious servant.  
  
A slow smile of her own spreading over her face, Buffy nodded as she replied, “Yes. Yes I would.”


	7. Chapter 7

As Buffy and the general made their way down the hallway, General Cordova filled Buffy in on the situation – as she saw it. Riley had had some important matter to attend to, and so had not gone with them.

“Hostile 17 has been giving us quite a bit of trouble lately,” Cordova explained. “As you saw for yourself.”

Buffy nodded grimly. She was still seeing it; she couldn’t get the images out of her head. Spike had been like a wild animal, running on pure rage and protective instinct. She had only seen him like that with one person before – with Drusilla. She thought of the vampire girl, her pitiful cries as the soldier had beaten her without mercy while she hung there, helpless.

*Vampire, Buffy,* she reminded herself. *Dangerous. Deadly. Animal. She almost killed a man.* But the girl’s screams still echoed in her ears.

The general went on, “How does this sound? One hour. Do whatever you like. Use your imagination.” The cruel smile on her lips sickened Buffy. The general’s smile faded as she added, “All that matters to me is that when you come out of that cell, he remembers his place. I want him to be aware again that he is beneath us. Just don’t kill him; that’s the only limit I’ll place on what you can do.”

Buffy noticed the ordering tone that the general’s words had automatically slipped into, and bristled at it; she was not under this woman – not yet. And for some reason, her words about Spike disturbed her deeply. If anyone had asked her, she would have said, “Yes, vampires are lower creatures than humans. Animals. Dust them all.”

Except Angel.

And Spike?

She hated to admit it, but Spike had always been different in her eyes. At least, since that temporary truce they had had three years before. It had been a surprise to her, one she still found difficulty accepting, that a vampire could love someone as much as Spike obviously had loved Drusilla. In fact, it was a thought she tried to avoid – a confusing, troubling thought that messed with her entire worldview.

But she was saved from that line of thought for the moment – but *only* the moment – because they had reached the door to the solitary confinement cell. There was one tiny window in the door, at eye-level. The sight that met Buffy’s eyes made her stomach twist with a sick, sad sort of feeling.

Against one wall, Spike sat on the cold floor, his knees drawn up to his chest defensively. After all, it was the only defense he had at the moment. His wrists were in tight restraints fastened to the wall above his head. He was blindfolded, and she could see from here that his body was trembling, with pain or cold, she couldn’t tell. Wait. Vampires didn’t get cold. She grimaced slightly. Not cold then. Again, Buffy felt very sick.

“Sensory deprivation,” General Cordova answered the unspoken question in her mind about the blindfold. “Very effective in breaking the will. Reminds them of their powerlessness – of who’s in charge.” She frowned in irritated reflection. “Hasn’t worked yet with this one, though.” She smiled conspiratorially at Buffy. “Perhaps you’ll be able to accomplish that.”

Buffy forced a smile to her lips and made herself reply, “Count on it.” Putting just the right sly note in her voice, she went on, “If I should see a reason to…would it be all right to take the restraints off?”

The general laughed. “Whatever you want, Ms. Summers. Just leave him the way you found him.” She smirked through the window at the helpless captive. “More or less.” The general glanced at her watch. “One hour,” she said as she unlocked the door. Then she smiled at Buffy. “I can tell we’re going to get along very well, Ms. Summers.”

And as she held up one hand for Buffy to wait and walked into the cell, her echoing words made Buffy feel sick again.

 

Spike heard the footsteps coming toward him, recognized them as hers, and steeled himself not to react, no matter what she did to him.

In an uncharacteristically gentle voice, the general said, “How are we doing, Hostile?” She reached down and touched his face, and he jerked away from her. Her hand suddenly hard, she gripped his chin and yanked his head back around.

There was nothing he could do to stop her, but he snarled, “Get your bloody hands off me!”

Her voice angry now, she said, “Still determined to be a fool, then, are you? Well, we’ll see how long that lasts.” Her voice softening, while taking on a menacing quality that made him feel scared in spite of himself, she went on, “I’ve got a surprise for you, Hostile. I’m going to go now and let you…enjoy it.” She released him suddenly, and he could hear her footsteps retreating.

“Where’s Diana?” he demanded. “What did you do with her?”

The footsteps stopped for a moment. He could hear the smile in her voice. “Would you like to know, Hostile?” she asked, an edge to her voice.

“Yes,” he whispered, fear for his childe softening his tone. When she said nothing, only waited, he finally swallowed back his pride, and added softly, “Please.”

She was silent for a moment, dragging out his shame, before she finally replied, “She’s alive. She’s with her master. That’s all you need to know.”

In truth it was more than he had wanted to know, and she knew it. She had only told him to torment him, and though he knew it, it tormented him still. He prepared himself to not show any fear as he waited for the general’s “surprise”.

 

The door opened and the general came out, smiling. Reaching into her pocket, she held something out to Buffy. Looking down, Buffy saw that it was the device the general had used earlier that had caused Spike so much pain. She really thought she might vomit. But she smiled and took the wretched implement of torture from the other woman’s hand.

“One hour,” the general reminded her, and walked down the hallway.

Buffy watched her until she was sure she was gone, then took a deep breath as she turned to face the door. *Here goes. Ok. Going in now.* She stood there, not moving. *Ok, Buffy. Harmless, tied-up, chipped vampire in there – can’t hurt you. Should not be scary. Why is it scary? Go. In. There.*

But all she could think about was the look in his eyes when he had looked at her in that horrible room. He couldn’t hurt her, no.

But he wanted to.

For some reason that was devastating to her. Those accusing, sharp blue eyes that saw right through her hypocrisies and demanded that she do her duty. Fight evil. God, if what she had seen in that room had not been evil, nothing was! But when those eyes had challenged her, dared her to step up and stop the brutality in front of her, what had she done? Stood there in silence and watched as he was viciously tortured for his attempt to do *her job*.

She knew why she had decided to do this. She had to make him understand. But how could she, when she no longer understood herself? Her self-disgust and shame almost made her simply turn and walk away. But that was not an option now. She had gotten herself into this, and now she had to follow through.

She opened the door and went in, closing it quietly behind her. She saw his body tense, his jaw lock, at the sound. Even with the blindfold, she recognized the expression on his face. He had no idea what to expect, but expected it to be bad, and he was trying not to show fear. Buffy suddenly wondered what words had passed between Spike and the general while she had waited in the hall.

She wanted to say something to allay his fears, but the thought that at the sound of her voice, a sneer of disgust might replace that look of barely concealed fear, froze her words in her throat. She was struck dumb, as she slowly approached him. She noticed with relief that whatever that device had done to him had not left a mark on him; he had a couple of bruises around his eyes from the general’s kick to his face, but appeared otherwise unharmed. She noted that perhaps the general’s giving her the device would turn out to be of the good; it would help to account for his lack of visible injuries from her “session” with him.

With gentle hands she reached for the straps that held his wrists. He flinched involuntarily when she touched him, and it sent a sharp stab of pain through her heart. The moment his wrists were freed, he tore the blindfold from his eyes and stumbled a few steps to the side, away from her, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. He assumed a defensive stance, ready to fight her.

Then, his eyes began to focus, and then grew wide with shock. He stared at her for a moment – and her heart sank as she watched the contempt slowly take over his eyes.

“Slayer.” There was a world of disgust, rage – and betrayal – in the tone with which the single word was spoken.

“Spike,” she whispered, unable to take her eyes from him.

They stood in a silent face-off for a few moments, neither knowing what to say. *Scratch that,* Buffy thought, as Spike opened his mouth, fury in his eyes. He knew what to say. He had only been gearing up to say it. She steeled herself to take it like the Slayer she was…and not in the way where she punched him in the nose for saying it. In the way where she stood there and accepted the harsh words she knew he had the right to say.

“Why are you here?” he demanded coldly.

*To question you. To punish you. To rescue you.* Options floated through Buffy’s mind of how to answer his question, but the words that came out were, “I needed to see…” *you* “…to see if you were all right.”

Surprise flashed in his eyes, but did nothing to abate the anger there. “Well, still *not* living, Slayer. No thanks to you,” he replied with a fake smile. “So you can get back on your bloody white horse of righteousness and ride off guilt-free now.”

Irritation slowly creeping through said guilt, in spite of her resolve to take it, Buffy shot back, “*God*, you’re a drama queen!”

“Dra -- *drama* queen?” he sputtered, turning on her with disbelieving fury in his eyes. Those arresting eyes narrowed as he stepped toward her, and she took a couple of steps backward, in spite of the fact that she knew he couldn’t actually hurt her. Still backing her toward the wall, he said in a low, mocking voice, “Seems to me you’ve got quite the act going yourself, Slayer! All ‘protect the bloody helpless’ and ‘fight evil’ and all that rot!” He paused, with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression on his face, then looked at her and added, “Oh, right! Unless of course the evil is a soddin’ human and the helpless is a vampire! Because vampires *deserve* to be raped and tortured!” By the end he was almost shouting, and Buffy’s back was against the wall.

But Buffy was too stunned by his words to react. Her wide stricken green eyes focused on his, and for a moment he forgot himself and wanted to calm her, instead of to kill her.

*No!* he told himself sternly. *She bloody well deserves it!*

But then her eyes were looking over his shoulder for just the briefest instant, and suddenly she gripped his arms and whirled around, reversing their positions, slamming him painfully against the wall.

Anger flowing through him he instinctively tried to break her grip, and was rewarded with a good-sized jolt from his chip. He winced, fighting off a wave of nausea; he still had not recovered from the chip’s torture earlier. He looked up at her with furious eyes. “Oh so that’s the game now is it, Slayer? Throw me off my game with those puppy-dog eyes and…”

His voice broke off when he saw her raise her fist to strike, and his eyes met hers in disbelief. In spite of all she had done and failed to do today, he still had not quite believed that she would actually hit him, in the condition he was in. And for a moment he had thought he was getting through to her…

“Is he still there?” she hissed, her eyes wide and alert, her heart pounding so hard he could almost feel it.

“Huh?” He was confused.

“The window, Spike,” she replied in an overly patient voice, although through gritted teeth.

He glanced up and saw a curious face peering in the small window – a soldier. “Oh…right…yes.” He barely had time to wonder why she cared.

“Damn it,” she muttered as she brought her fist down into his face.

“Bloody hell!” His head was spinning and he saw stars as he righted himself, aided by her hand still on his arm. But – somehow – it felt like she had held back – didn’t hurt like a usual Slayer-punch, and he should know!

“You off *your* game a bit, Slayer?” he asked, mocking her.

“Not a bit,” she smiled dangerously, a warning gleam in her eyes. “Gone yet?”

He looked again. “Yeah, he’s gone.” He frowned at her as she released him. Gesturing toward the window, he asked, “What’s this, then?”

“I’m supposed to be beating the crap out of you,” she smirked in spite of her resolve to give him the respect he deserved after what he’d been through.

“Oh, are you, now, love?” he returned the smirk, understanding dawning in his eyes as he leaned toward her, forcing her to back off a bit, and then stepped away from the wall. “Undercover, are we?”

She nodded slowly, still holding his gaze. “I’m going to take these people down, Spike.” *I need you to know that.* “It might take time, but…”

“Oh, take your time, love,” he broke in sarcastically. “Take all the bloody time you need…meanwhile I’ll explain to Diana why…” His voice broke off, choked by tears.

Buffy was silent for a moment. “Why did they beat her?” she asked, keeping her voice level. By now she knew that Cordova’s story was a lie.

“Because she ran away,” he responded, bitterly, tears flowing down his face. “She ran away from the man who – who…”

“My God,” Buffy said softly. This was worse than she had thought. She looked back up at Spike’s hard yet tear-streaked face. “Is she – your lover?” she asked, not knowing why she was holding her breath while she waited for his answer.

He let out a silent laugh. “My childe,” he replied, not looking at her.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy whispered. She paused before going on, “I came here to help, Spike. To stop this.” It was not quite true. She had come to save the humans the Initiative was turning, not the vampires they were abusing.

And when he turned those piercing eyes on her, she knew that he knew the truth. But she *wanted* to help him *now*, she realized, and was suddenly desperate for him to know that. She went to him, and he turned his back on her. She took his arm to turn him around, to make him face her. He tried to pull away from her, then winced in pain and gave in. She dropped his arm suddenly, taking a step back.

She frowned. “You can’t even resist at all…?” she asked.

“No, love!” he turned back to her, bitter accusation in his voice. “Because that would get in the way of their whole doin’-whatever-they-bloody-well-please-with-us thing, wouldn’t it?”

His scathing tone made her flinch. But it also made her angry and defensive. “Are you going to help me take these creeps down or not?” she demanded, then added before he could reply, “I’m *not* the one who did this to you, Spike!”

“No, that would be your ex-boyfriend and your new best friend!” he snarled. His words scalded her.

“You know what? Fine!” she snarled back, throwing her hands up in defeat and starting toward the door. “I’ll do this with or without you, Spike. I just thought *maybe* you’d want to help me, since…”

“With me.” His voice was so low that she didn’t catch the words at first.

When she turned back to look at him, she saw his decision in his eyes. The resentment, the bitter fury, the pain were all still there, but he was sure. “What?” she asked him.

“*With* me, Slayer,” he replied, pronouncing each word slowly, a blazing fury in his fathomless blue eyes, so dark at the moment that they were almost navy.

She nodded slowly, and he looked away again.

His head was turned so that his voice was muffled, but as she slowly walked back to him, she clearly heard his next words, and they chilled her to the bone.

“This place will burn!”

TBC...  
  
WEll there you have it, my updates...my computer's being a pain today so it took me like half an hour to post them...*sigh*...oh well...  
  
Hope you all have a wonderful day!!!


	8. Chapter 8

As Buffy and the general made their way down the hallway, General Cordova filled Buffy in on the situation – as she saw it. Riley had had some important matter to attend to, and so had not gone with them.  
  
“Hostile 17 has been giving us quite a bit of trouble lately,” Cordova explained. “As you saw for yourself.”  
  
Buffy nodded grimly. She was still seeing it; she couldn’t get the images out of her head. Spike had been like a wild animal, running on pure rage and protective instinct. She had only seen him like that with one person before – with Drusilla. She thought of the vampire girl, her pitiful cries as the soldier had beaten her without mercy while she hung there, helpless.  
  
*Vampire, Buffy,* she reminded herself. *Dangerous. Deadly. Animal. She almost killed a man.* But the girl’s screams still echoed in her ears.  
  
The general went on, “How does this sound? One hour. Do whatever you like. Use your imagination.” The cruel smile on her lips sickened Buffy. The general’s smile faded as she added, “All that matters to me is that when you come out of that cell, he remembers his place. I want him to be aware again that he is beneath us. Just don’t kill him; that’s the only limit I’ll place on what you can do.”  
  
Buffy noticed the ordering tone that the general’s words had automatically slipped into, and bristled at it; she was not under this woman – not yet. And for some reason, her words about Spike disturbed her deeply. If anyone had asked her, she would have said, “Yes, vampires are lower creatures than humans. Animals. Dust them all.”  
  
Except Angel.  
  
And Spike?   
  
She hated to admit it, but Spike had always been different in her eyes. At least, since that temporary truce they had had three years before. It had been a surprise to her, one she still found difficulty accepting, that a vampire could love someone as much as Spike obviously had loved Drusilla. In fact, it was a thought she tried to avoid – a confusing, troubling thought that messed with her entire worldview.  
  
But she was saved from that line of thought for the moment – but *only* the moment – because they had reached the door to the solitary confinement cell. There was one tiny window in the door, at eye-level. The sight that met Buffy’s eyes made her stomach twist with a sick, sad sort of feeling.  
  
Against one wall, Spike sat on the cold floor, his knees drawn up to his chest defensively. After all, it was the only defense he had at the moment. His wrists were in tight restraints fastened to the wall above his head. He was blindfolded, and she could see from here that his body was trembling, with pain or cold, she couldn’t tell. Wait. Vampires didn’t get cold. She grimaced slightly. Not cold then. Again, Buffy felt very sick.  
  
“Sensory deprivation,” General Cordova answered the unspoken question in her mind about the blindfold. “Very effective in breaking the will. Reminds them of their powerlessness – of who’s in charge.” She frowned in irritated reflection. “Hasn’t worked yet with this one, though.” She smiled conspiratorially at Buffy. “Perhaps you’ll be able to accomplish that.”  
  
Buffy forced a smile to her lips and made herself reply, “Count on it.” Putting just the right sly note in her voice, she went on, “If I should see a reason to…would it be all right to take the restraints off?”  
  
The general laughed. “Whatever you want, Ms. Summers. Just leave him the way you found him.” She smirked through the window at the helpless captive. “More or less.” The general glanced at her watch. “One hour,” she said as she unlocked the door. Then she smiled at Buffy. “I can tell we’re going to get along very well, Ms. Summers.”  
  
And as she held up one hand for Buffy to wait and walked into the cell, her echoing words made Buffy feel sick again.  
  
  
Spike heard the footsteps coming toward him, recognized them as hers, and steeled himself not to react, no matter what she did to him.  
  
In an uncharacteristically gentle voice, the general said, “How are we doing, Hostile?” She reached down and touched his face, and he jerked away from her. Her hand suddenly hard, she gripped his chin and yanked his head back around.  
  
There was nothing he could do to stop her, but he snarled, “Get your bloody hands off me!”  
  
Her voice angry now, she said, “Still determined to be a fool, then, are you? Well, we’ll see how long that lasts.” Her voice softening, while taking on a menacing quality that made him feel scared in spite of himself, she went on, “I’ve got a surprise for you, Hostile. I’m going to go now and let you…enjoy it.” She released him suddenly, and he could hear her footsteps retreating.  
  
“Where’s Diana?” he demanded. “What did you do with her?”  
  
The footsteps stopped for a moment. He could hear the smile in her voice. “Would you like to know, Hostile?” she asked, an edge to her voice.  
  
“Yes,” he whispered, fear for his childe softening his tone. When she said nothing, only waited, he finally swallowed back his pride, and added softly, “Please.”  
  
She was silent for a moment, dragging out his shame, before she finally replied, “She’s alive. She’s with her master. That’s all you need to know.”   
  
In truth it was more than he had wanted to know, and she knew it. She had only told him to torment him, and though he knew it, it tormented him still. He prepared himself to not show any fear as he waited for the general’s “surprise”.  
  
  
The door opened and the general came out, smiling. Reaching into her pocket, she held something out to Buffy. Looking down, Buffy saw that it was the device the general had used earlier that had caused Spike so much pain. She really thought she might vomit. But she smiled and took the wretched implement of torture from the other woman’s hand.  
  
“One hour,” the general reminded her, and walked down the hallway.   
  
Buffy watched her until she was sure she was gone, then took a deep breath as she turned to face the door. *Here goes. Ok. Going in now.* She stood there, not moving. *Ok, Buffy. Harmless, tied-up, chipped vampire in there – can’t hurt you. Should not be scary. Why is it scary? Go. In. There.*  
  
But all she could think about was the look in his eyes when he had looked at her in that horrible room. He couldn’t hurt her, no.  
  
But he wanted to.  
  
For some reason that was devastating to her. Those accusing, sharp blue eyes that saw right through her hypocrisies and demanded that she do her duty. Fight evil. God, if what she had seen in that room had not been evil, nothing was! But when those eyes had challenged her, dared her to step up and stop the brutality in front of her, what had she done? Stood there in silence and watched as he was viciously tortured for his attempt to do *her job*.  
  
She knew why she had decided to do this. She had to make him understand. But how could she, when she no longer understood herself? Her self-disgust and shame almost made her simply turn and walk away. But that was not an option now. She had gotten herself into this, and now she had to follow through.  
  
She opened the door and went in, closing it quietly behind her. She saw his body tense, his jaw lock, at the sound. Even with the blindfold, she recognized the expression on his face. He had no idea what to expect, but expected it to be bad, and he was trying not to show fear. Buffy suddenly wondered what words had passed between Spike and the general while she had waited in the hall.  
  
She wanted to say something to allay his fears, but the thought that at the sound of her voice, a sneer of disgust might replace that look of barely concealed fear, froze her words in her throat. She was struck dumb, as she slowly approached him. She noticed with relief that whatever that device had done to him had not left a mark on him; he had a couple of bruises around his eyes from the general’s kick to his face, but appeared otherwise unharmed. She noted that perhaps the general’s giving her the device would turn out to be of the good; it would help to account for his lack of visible injuries from her “session” with him.  
  
With gentle hands she reached for the straps that held his wrists. He flinched involuntarily when she touched him, and it sent a sharp stab of pain through her heart. The moment his wrists were freed, he tore the blindfold from his eyes and stumbled a few steps to the side, away from her, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. He assumed a defensive stance, ready to fight her.  
  
Then, his eyes began to focus, and then grew wide with shock. He stared at her for a moment – and her heart sank as she watched the contempt slowly take over his eyes.  
  
“Slayer.” There was a world of disgust, rage – and betrayal – in the tone with which the single word was spoken.  
  
“Spike,” she whispered, unable to take her eyes from him.  
  
They stood in a silent face-off for a few moments, neither knowing what to say. *Scratch that,* Buffy thought, as Spike opened his mouth, fury in his eyes. He knew what to say. He had only been gearing up to say it. She steeled herself to take it like the Slayer she was…and not in the way where she punched him in the nose for saying it. In the way where she stood there and accepted the harsh words she knew he had the right to say.  
  
“Why are you here?” he demanded coldly.  
  
*To question you. To punish you. To rescue you.* Options floated through Buffy’s mind of how to answer his question, but the words that came out were, “I needed to see…” *you* “…to see if you were all right.”  
  
Surprise flashed in his eyes, but did nothing to abate the anger there. “Well, still *not* living, Slayer. No thanks to you,” he replied with a fake smile. “So you can get back on your bloody white horse of righteousness and ride off guilt-free now.”  
  
Irritation slowly creeping through said guilt, in spite of her resolve to take it, Buffy shot back, “*God*, you’re a drama queen!”  
  
“Dra -- *drama* queen?” he sputtered, turning on her with disbelieving fury in his eyes. Those arresting eyes narrowed as he stepped toward her, and she took a couple of steps backward, in spite of the fact that she knew he couldn’t actually hurt her. Still backing her toward the wall, he said in a low, mocking voice, “Seems to me you’ve got quite the act going yourself, Slayer! All ‘protect the bloody helpless’ and ‘fight evil’ and all that rot!” He paused, with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression on his face, then looked at her and added, “Oh, right! Unless of course the evil is a soddin’ human and the helpless is a vampire! Because vampires *deserve* to be raped and tortured!” By the end he was almost shouting, and Buffy’s back was against the wall.  
  
But Buffy was too stunned by his words to react. Her wide stricken green eyes focused on his, and for a moment he forgot himself and wanted to calm her, instead of to kill her.  
  
*No!* he told himself sternly. *She bloody well deserves it!*  
  
But then her eyes were looking over his shoulder for just the briefest instant, and suddenly she gripped his arms and whirled around, reversing their positions, slamming him painfully against the wall.  
  
Anger flowing through him he instinctively tried to break her grip, and was rewarded with a good-sized jolt from his chip. He winced, fighting off a wave of nausea; he still had not recovered from the chip’s torture earlier. He looked up at her with furious eyes. “Oh so that’s the game now is it, Slayer? Throw me off my game with those puppy-dog eyes and…”  
  
His voice broke off when he saw her raise her fist to strike, and his eyes met hers in disbelief. In spite of all she had done and failed to do today, he still had not quite believed that she would actually hit him, in the condition he was in. And for a moment he had thought he was getting through to her…  
  
“Is he still there?” she hissed, her eyes wide and alert, her heart pounding so hard he could almost feel it.  
  
“Huh?” He was confused.  
  
“The window, Spike,” she replied in an overly patient voice, although through gritted teeth.  
  
He glanced up and saw a curious face peering in the small window – a soldier. “Oh…right…yes.” He barely had time to wonder why she cared.  
  
“Damn it,” she muttered as she brought her fist down into his face.  
  
“Bloody hell!” His head was spinning and he saw stars as he righted himself, aided by her hand still on his arm. But – somehow – it felt like she had held back – didn’t hurt like a usual Slayer-punch, and he should know!  
  
“You off *your* game a bit, Slayer?” he asked, mocking her.  
  
“Not a bit,” she smiled dangerously, a warning gleam in her eyes. “Gone yet?”  
  
He looked again. “Yeah, he’s gone.” He frowned at her as she released him. Gesturing toward the window, he asked, “What’s this, then?”  
  
“I’m supposed to be beating the crap out of you,” she smirked in spite of her resolve to give him the respect he deserved after what he’d been through.  
  
“Oh, are you, now, love?” he returned the smirk, understanding dawning in his eyes as he leaned toward her, forcing her to back off a bit, and then stepped away from the wall. “Undercover, are we?”  
  
She nodded slowly, still holding his gaze. “I’m going to take these people down, Spike.” *I need you to know that.* “It might take time, but…”  
  
“Oh, take your time, love,” he broke in sarcastically. “Take all the bloody time you need…meanwhile I’ll explain to Diana why…” His voice broke off, choked by tears.  
  
Buffy was silent for a moment. “Why did they beat her?” she asked, keeping her voice level. By now she knew that Cordova’s story was a lie.  
  
“Because she ran away,” he responded, bitterly, tears flowing down his face. “She ran away from the man who – who…”  
  
“My God,” Buffy said softly. This was worse than she had thought. She looked back up at Spike’s hard yet tear-streaked face. “Is she – your lover?” she asked, not knowing why she was holding her breath while she waited for his answer.  
  
He let out a silent laugh. “My childe,” he replied, not looking at her.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Buffy whispered. She paused before going on, “I came here to help, Spike. To stop this.” It was not quite true. She had come to save the humans the Initiative was turning, not the vampires they were abusing.  
  
And when he turned those piercing eyes on her, she knew that he knew the truth. But she *wanted* to help him *now*, she realized, and was suddenly desperate for him to know that. She went to him, and he turned his back on her. She took his arm to turn him around, to make him face her. He tried to pull away from her, then winced in pain and gave in. She dropped his arm suddenly, taking a step back.  
  
She frowned. “You can’t even resist at all…?” she asked.  
  
“No, love!” he turned back to her, bitter accusation in his voice. “Because that would get in the way of their whole doin’-whatever-they-bloody-well-please-with-us thing, wouldn’t it?”  
  
His scathing tone made her flinch. But it also made her angry and defensive. “Are you going to help me take these creeps down or not?” she demanded, then added before he could reply, “I’m *not* the one who did this to you, Spike!”  
  
“No, that would be your ex-boyfriend and your new best friend!” he snarled. His words scalded her.  
  
“You know what? Fine!” she snarled back, throwing her hands up in defeat and starting toward the door. “I’ll do this with or without you, Spike. I just thought *maybe* you’d want to help me, since…”  
  
“With me.” His voice was so low that she didn’t catch the words at first.  
  
When she turned back to look at him, she saw his decision in his eyes. The resentment, the bitter fury, the pain were all still there, but he was sure. “What?” she asked him.  
  
“*With* me, Slayer,” he replied, pronouncing each word slowly, a blazing fury in his fathomless blue eyes, so dark at the moment that they were almost navy.  
  
She nodded slowly, and he looked away again.  
  
His head was turned so that his voice was muffled, but as she slowly walked back to him, she clearly heard his next words, and they chilled her to the bone.  
  
“This place will burn!”


	9. Chapter 9

“So what’s your brilliant plan, Slayer? Enlighten me,” Spike asked, making his voice as nonchalant as possible. Now that he had gotten a few things out of his system, some of the fire had gone out of his rant – along with some of the strength from his body. He walked toward the wall, then turned to face her, pressing his hands against the wall for support, while trying not to look as if he was leaning on it.  
  
He could never remember the chip’s effect on him being this painful, or lasting this long. The general must have used a higher setting than she ever had before. He felt incredibly weak already, and his emotional outburst had sapped most of his remaining strength. He could feel the pain, forgotten during those first few minutes with Buffy, returning, and with it the violent tremors that shook his body.  
  
Though he tried to hide it, Buffy saw his weakness, and that merely staying on his feet was taking a toll on him. Casually she moved to sit down on the floor near where he stood, hoping that he would take his cue to do the same.   
  
“I don’t really have one, to be honest with you,” she admitted. “I figured I’d find out what you know first, see if the Initiative has any weaknesses we can work with, anything like that, before making any definite plans. I figure if I’m in with General Cordova, I’ll have a lot more access and be able to do a lot more to help.”  
  
As she had hoped, once she was seated, he felt that he could sit as well without giving away his weakness to her, and just before he did Buffy thought she saw a glimmer of relief in his eyes.  
  
“Know quite a bit, actually, Slayer. What exactly were you wanting to know?” he asked, his weariness creeping into his voice, despite his best efforts to cover it up.  
  
Buffy was silent for a moment. Then she said quietly, “I met Darian.”  
  
Spike looked up at her in surprise for a moment. Then he looked away again as he asked, “Did you dust him?”  
  
She looked at him, studying his expression. He had a practicedly unconcerned expression on his face, but she could see the worry in his eyes. She realized with surprise that he really cared what happened to his missing childe.  
  
*But why should that surprise me?* she reminded herself. *Duh, Buffy. Drusilla?*  
  
“Well, considering that I’m on a first-name basis with him, ‘no’ would be a good guess, wouldn’t it?” she said dryly. “I don’t usually get a name before I stake.” She paused. “He said you’re his sire.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And you sired him *here*.”  
  
He paused. “Yes. By order of her bitchiness, General Whore-dova.”  
  
Buffy let out a short laugh before his words fully registered with her, and she sobered. “My God,” she whispered. “Then it’s true. The Initiative is turning people into vampires.”  
  
Spike nodded once.  
  
“Why?” she asked.  
  
He took a deep breath before launching into a description of Cordova’s plan for her vampire army, concluding with his siring of the potential-officer vamps.  
  
“Okay, color me confused,” Buffy said, frowning. “But what is Cordova trying to raise this big army for? Unless the whole US army is involved, but I don’t really think that’s likely.”  
  
“Oh, but *this*, you completely saw coming,” Spike pointed out sarcastically with a raised eyebrow, and Buffy found that instead of being annoyed at his snarkiness, she was relieved to see its return.  
  
“Point taken,” she admitted.  
  
“To your credit, though, Slayer,” he went on, “I do think this is her own little personal hobby horse she’s riding here, not some huge government conspiracy. I think she’s using the Initiative to further some plan of her own she’s got in the works.”  
  
Buffy nodded, her suspicions confirmed. “So what would she want to build an army for?”  
  
“Diabolical plans of world domination?” Spike guessed with a smirk.  
  
Buffy smiled in spite of herself. The tension was slowly easing out of her as he seemed to relax with her a bit, at least outwardly. She thought for a moment, trying to think what to ask next; there were so many questions in her mind. Her fingers running idly over the object in her pocket that the general had given to her, she took it out, frowning at it.  
  
“What’s this thing, anyway?” she asked him, tossing it carelessly in her hand.  
  
Spike’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open as he searched for words before exploding, “Bloody hell, woman! Be careful with that!” Without thought he reached out and snatched it from her hand.  
  
“Hey!” Buffy started to object, shooting him an indignant look – which froze when she saw the expression on his face.  
  
He seemed to have forgotten her, and was staring at the tiny object in his hand, an intense emotion in his eyes – anger? fear? loathing? awe? some odd combination of them all? As she watched his eyes narrowed in hatred and his fist tightened around the tiny thing as if he would crush it to pieces.  
  
“Do that and my cover’s pretty much shot,” she reminded him mildly. “Unless you’ve got a story I can tell the general to explain how you managed to get it away from me when you can’t fight me or resist me in any way.”  
  
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Slayer,” he smirked, a mocking lilt to his voice. “There’s still at least a couple of ways in which I can resist you.” But the barb was almost automatic; his attention still riveted on the device in his hand. Finally, his fist slowly opened, and he shrugged, feigning indifference as he met her eyes again. “Can’t break it anyway. Thing’s rigged so if it’s broken chip fires automatically. Without stopping. ‘Til the soddin’ thing wears out.”  
  
Buffy’s eyes must have revealed her horror at that information, because he quickly looked away from her as he said, “Couldn’t kill me. Well, short of making me stake myself.”  
  
Buffy swallowed hard, looking at the floor. “Do all the vamps here have chips like yours?”  
  
“They all have chips,” he nodded slowly. “This little piece of work though,” he nodded toward his hand. “Specially designed just for me. All [the others](http://www.qklinkserver.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=92&k=the%20others&st=1) – pre-programmed to only go off for specific behaviors – like mine was before, you know. I’m the only one that poses enough of a threat to warrant a bit stronger leash.” He flashed her a grim smile as he finished.  
  
Buffy was aghast, sickened by the knowledge of what they had done to him.  
  
“Don’t look so down in the mouth, love,” he said softly, seeing the expression on her face. “It’s not like they did it to a human.” His tone was pointed, but not cruel. He was not angry with her anymore; he was only trying to make his point.  
  
So why did she feel so incredibly guilty?  
  
Smiling at her in a sort of gentle way, as if wanting to ease the guilt for her – though why should he want to, she wondered – he held out the device to her. “Just be careful with that, love,” he said quietly. “The thing’s a bit touchy ‘round the trigger.”  
  
She was silent for a moment, desperately searching for another question to [ask, anything](http://www.qklinkserver.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=92&k=ask%20anything&st=1) to change this dreadful subject, before she finally asked, “So where does Diana fit into the mix?”  
  
Spike looked away suddenly, the soft smile fading. He took a deep breath before turning to look her in the eye, his gaze intense and challenging. “Be sure you really want to know the answer to that question, Slayer.”  
  
Something in his look made her suddenly feel panicked, and she knew that whatever he was going to say would not just horrify her in the general sense that everything she had seen since she had arrived here had horrified her; but rather would touch her painfully on some personal level. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with him as she said softly, “I want to know. Tell me.”  
  
He looked at her for a moment before saying in a very soft, deadly voice, “A certain soldier in this outfit with a very high-ranking position decided not to take no for an answer when she said she wasn’t interested. Had her brought here and made into his personal sex slave – of the non-human variety, of course, so he can indulge his nasty little fantasies guilt-free.” The cold calm of his voice was chilling to her; she heard in it all the things he would have loved to subject that certain soldier to.  
  
There was something else in his voice that made her feel sick, something insistently knocking at the door of her conscious, seeking entrance; something that her subconscious rushed in panic to lock out.  
  
Then with a simple statement, Spike kicked the mental door down, allowing the truth to flood inside.  
  
“Diana resemble anyone you know, Slayer?”  
  
Buffy stood up suddenly, eyes wide with shock as she stared down at him. “What are you saying?” she demanded, her voice trembling.  
  
“Think it out, Slayer,” Spike said in that same quiet voice. “What sort of bloke would be attracted to just such a girl as our little Diana?”  
  
Buffy shook her head in denial of the facts that were slowly taking shape in her mind. “No,” she whispered.  
  
Spike nodded slowly, looking her in the eye. Then, he was glancing between her eyes and her hand, and she realized that she was subconsciously turning the device in her hand in an almost frantic way. Quickly she put it in her pocket, not wanting it to go off accidentally, and saw Spike’s visible relief. But it didn’t quite register; nothing was connecting in her mind – she couldn’t let it.  
  
“Oh my God,” Buffy moaned, turning away from him, her hand to her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”  
  
Spike slowly stood, taking a step toward her. “Slayer,” he began, not sure what to say.  
  
She just held out a hand, shaking her head, still turned away from him. “Don’t,” she rasped.  
  
He stood there uncomfortably, not sure what he could do to make this better. Suddenly he regretted telling her, though he knew that she had to know, sooner or later.  
  
Finally, she turned to face him, and her tear-filled eyes were full of a fiery anger. “My hour in here is almost up,” she told him, glancing at her watch. “I’m going to get in. Cordova accepts me. We’re gonna spend a little time getting what information we need to know how to stop them. A *very* little time. Days at the most. I’m gonna work out a way to see you again, and we’ll compare notes then. Find out whatever you can in the meantime and we’ll work out a plan next time. Agreed?”  
  
He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes from hers.  
  
She paused, looking down for a moment, before meeting his eyes again. “The Initiative is going down,” she declared in a voice trembling with rage. “And Riley Finn is going with it!”


	10. Chapter 10

Buffy forced herself to smile at General Cordova as she placed the control mechanism to Spike’s chip back in her hand. She wanted to crush it herself, to hide it away somewhere, to shove it down this sadistic woman’s throat -- *anything* rather than placing it back in the cruel hands that had used it so cruelly against him.  
  
Instead she made herself say, “Interesting little toy you’ve got there, General,” with a smirk. *I hope you get the chance to experience it for yourself someday!* she added mentally.  
  
The general returned her smile. “Thought you’d like it,” she said, and Buffy wanted to throw up – or slap her face; either would have made her feel better.  
  
“He shouldn’t give you any more trouble for a while,” Buffy assured her, then added as inspiration struck her, “But if he does, feel free to let me know.” *Might give me a way to get in to see him,* she thought.  
  
The general laughed. “Sounds like a mutually beneficial arrangement to me,” she nodded. “So you’ve decided to join us then?”  
  
Buffy nodded. “I have.”  
  
“Good. Unless there’s anything else I can show you, any other questions you might have, you can go ahead and go home for tonight. Come back tomorrow and we’ll make all the necessary arrangements.”  
  
“Is Lieutenant Finn going to be taking me home?” Buffy asked innocently, wondering if it would be *too* suspicious if the good lieutenant just “happened” to disappear and never be seen again while on his assignment to take her home.  
  
“I’m afraid Lieutenant Finn has been called to another assignment at the moment. I’ll have someone else take you home.” The general’s smile revealed nothing, but Buffy had a good idea of what had required Riley’s attention – dealing with his little runaway slave – and it sickened her.  
  
“Lieutenant Finn has informed me that you two have some – history – together.” The general gave her a knowing look. “You should know that in this operation, with everything so highly classified, we tend to become very close to each other rather than to those on the outside. Therefore we tend to – look the other way – in regards to close friendships that may develop in the line of duty.”  
  
*She’s telling me not to worry about inter-office dating if I wanna date Riley again!* she realized with disgust. *Evil, nasty Riley the vampire-rapist? I do not think so!*  
  
As she stepped out into the sun and headed for the blue SUV, she thought, *I wonder if she’d look the other way for an inter-office murder?*  
  
Buffy could hear the commotion coming from her house before she even got out of the car. The soldier in the driver’s seat frowned.   
  
“Sure you’re gonna be all right, Ms. Summers?” he asked.  
  
Annoyed by his protect-the-helpless-little-woman routine, and also thinking of Darian, she smiled a huge fake smile and said, “No, thank you, I’ll be fine.” She slammed the car door without giving the soldier a chance to argue, and headed up the porch steps to her front door, as the SUV pulled out of her driveway and drove off into the night.  
  
Buffy noticed that Willow’s car was parked in the driveway. Buffy’s mom was out of town for a few days, some art convention or something. Although Darian was chipped and therefore relatively harmless, Buffy had not wanted to leave Dawn alone with him, even for just a few hours, so Willow had agreed to stay with them while she was touring the Initiative.  
  
As Buffy turned the key in the lock and opened the door, the sound of hysterical yelling and crying became overpoweringly loud, mixed with Willow’s louder than usual, higher pitched than usual, voice. Stepping into the living room, she took in the sight before her.  
  
Darian was the one freaking out. Willow had apparently gotten him cornered at one end of the room, and was trying desperately to calm him down. As Buffy drew nearer, she could see that his face was streaked with tears, his eyes wide with terror, and he was trembling uncontrollably.  
  
The moment he saw Buffy, he stepped back against the wall, his hands raised defensively, his eyes wide and frightened. “No,” he whimpered. “You said you wouldn’t! You promised! Please!”  
  
“What’s going on?” Buffy asked quietly, her words directed at Willow, but her eyes focused on Darian.  
  
“Dawnie and I were talking and I guess he overheard us and figured out where you were going today,” Willow explained. “He was ok for a little while, but a couple hours ago he started saying you’d been gone too long and – and well, he kinda freaked out. He was afraid you were gonna turn him in.” She paused, uncomfortable, before finishing with a guilty look, “And then when he, um, tried to leave, and – and, uh, found out he – he *couldn’t*…” Her voice trailed off, and Buffy felt a little sick. None of them had thought to tell Darian about the containment spell.  
  
After her disturbing, revealing visit to the Initiative, this news flooded her with compassion, and an odd sense of guilt. She could understand Darian’s terror of ever going back there, after getting a glimpse of the way he had probably been treated. Spike had told her that he was better treated than any of the other vamps, and he had been savagely tortured before her very eyes.  
  
Her own eyes welling with unshed tears, she started slowly toward the young vampire, one hand stretched out, open and unthreatening. “Darian,” she said softly, not wanting to startle him. “It’s ok. I know, I promised. And I’m *not* gonna let them take you back there, not ever. Ok?”  
  
She could tell by his face that he was not sure whether or not to believe her. He just stared at her with those wide, panicked blue eyes, shaking his head a little, whispering, “Please! Please don’t!”  
  
“I won’t,” she whispered back, slowing advancing toward him, her hand still outstretched. She reached him, and cautiously placed her hand on his arm.  
  
He flinched a little when she touched him, drawing back against the wall, but not pulling away.  
  
“I’m not gonna hurt you, Darian,” she assured him softly. “Come on, it’s all right. Calm down.” Her voice was a little stronger now that she had established contact, now that she seemed to be getting through to him a little. At least he hadn’t pulled away from her. Then she remembered with a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.  
  
He couldn’t.  
  
But he *did* seem to be calming a little. He met her eyes now, and his shaking was less violent. “If you’re going to take me back there,” he said, his voice just slightly stronger now, though still trembling, “just kill me, Ma’am. I’d rather die than face what – what they’d do to me for running away.” This was not overdramatics, as she had accused Spike of when they had first spoken in his cell. This was simple matter-of-fact reality for him, and she knew that it was the truth.  
  
“I know,” Buffy said softly, her unshed tears overflowing as she thought of Diana and the punishment inflicted on *her* for running away. “Darian, I promise you with all I’ve got that I am *not* going to take you back there!” She looked him in the eye, willing him to see her sincerity. She paused before continuing, “I talked to your sire today, and I know what they’ve been doing to all of you. And I would not make you go back there, not for anything! Ok? I’m going to stop them!”  
  
He gazed into her eyes, searching, and seemed to find something that satisfied him at least a little. He frowned, and there was a slight note of accusation in his voice when he asked, “Why can’t I leave?”  
  
Buffy smiled in a sort of apologetic way. “I told you you were my prisoner, remember? I can’t let you just go running around for the Initiative people to pick up. It’s more for your own safety than anything,” she assured him. “Besides,” she continued in a brighter tone, “I need your help. We’re gonna stop these creeps from hurting you or anyone else ever again.”  
  
He did not look convinced. But he did look calmer, and intrigued by the idea of taking down the Initiative. “W-what can I do to help?” he asked timidly.  
  
Buffy’s smile widened encouragingly at his response. Taking him by the arm, she led him toward the couch. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s talk.”  
  
The door to Spike’s suite opened, and he looked up from his chair – then leapt to his feet at the sight that met his eyes.  
  
Lieutenant Finn had entered the room, carrying Diana’s limp, beaten form in his arms. She was so incredibly tiny, so helpless, in the burly man’s huge hands. Finn carried her to the couch and laid her down, none too gently. Spike was struck speechless for a moment by the extent of the damage to her abused, battered body. Never before had she been in too bad of condition to even walk on her own when they had brought her to him.  
  
She was still wearing the underclothes she had been wearing when she was whipped, but her injuries had increased terribly; it appeared Lieutenant Finn had not felt that her punishment was sufficient.  
  
“What did you do to her?” The low, intense sound of his own voice, and the low rumbling growl in his throat, surprised even Spike as he turned to glare at the officer, who sneered down at him.  
  
“Not really your concern, hostile,” Finn smiled that deceptive, innocent-looking smile as he replied, starting back for the door.  
  
But Spike blocked his path. He didn’t touch him, didn’t make any move that could be taken as threatening, only stood there so that he could not leave. “It *is* my concern, I am sick to death of everyone telling me she is not my *concern*, when she is all that bloody well *does* concern me in this soddin’ godforsaken place!” he snarled.  
  
Finn’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he gave the vampire a once-over glance and said softly, “You’d best step aside.”  
  
Spike did not move.  
  
Finn shrugged his acceptance of Spike’s decision. “Fine, then,” he said with a smile. “I prefer it this way anyway.” His powerful, experimental-drug-enhanced fist slammed into the vampire’s face with brutal force, knocking him aside, out of his way. Spike was still at a disadvantage, feeling exhausted and sick from the general’s torture, and reeled with the blow, struggling against his own weakness and fatigue.  
  
Still, he was back in Finn’s face in a matter of moments, his eyes blazing with menace.  
  
The soldier appraised him for a moment, then laughed, a soft, threatening sound. “You might wanna be careful, hostile,” he informed him. “One more incident like the one you pulled today, and General Cordova just might be persuaded to see things my way.” He paused, glancing pointedly toward the limp, battered form on Spike’s sofa before adding, “And *then* who’s gonna take care of your baby girl?”  
  
It was all Spike could do not to attack him right then, but something in his words stopped him. It was true; he could not get himself killed and leave Diana with no one to even comfort her in the wake of Finn’s abuses, leave her completely, devastatingly alone except for her abusers. With an extreme force of his will, he backed down, stepping out of Finn’s path.  
  
The lieutenant gave a short, mocking laugh as he took another step toward the door. He stopped just in the doorway, not turning as he spoke again. “I know you put her up to it, Spike,” he said, startling the vampire with the quiet, dangerous voice speaking his actual name. “I know you helped the other one escape. The general thinks you can be useful, but I know you’re nothing but a liability to this operation. And all I’ve gotta do is prove it.” He looked back over his shoulder, catching Spike’s eye with a chilling expression in his own. “And you’re helping me do it,” he added with a smirk.  
  
Spike simply stared at him, and then at the spot where he had been, for several long moments as Finn left, locking the door behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

Buffy spent most of the next day filling out endless paperwork required for her entrance into the Initiative. She was amazed that the Initiative kept such meticulous records on their personnel; she would have thought they would have tried to keep the paper trail to a minimum. She spent a long time in General Cordova’s office, and therefore thankfully did not see much of Riley.

Following her spontaneous inspiration about murdering him on the way back to her house and its failure, she had realized that she was not sure she could even face him and keep up her “good soldier” act. She thought it might be better to just avoid him, and had managed to accomplish it all day.

Then the door to the general’s office opened. *Oh, shoot,* Buffy thought, focusing on the papers in front of her, avoiding Riley’s eyes.

“General,” he said in an official sort of tone. “I need to speak with you privately if I may.”

Buffy offered to step out of the office, but the general had insisted that she keep her seat, and had stepped out into the hall with Riley. On his way out, as he had passed behind her, Riley had gently squeezed her shoulder in a familiar way that now made her sick. All she could think about when he touched her was poor little Diana, as Riley did unspeakable things to her, and called her by Buffy’s name as he did them.

When the general returned to her office – alone, to Buffy’s tremendous relief – she was smiling.

“Would you be willing to spend another hour with our wayward vampire today?” she asked her laughingly. “It appears there was another incident this morning.”

“Really?” Buffy raised her eyebrows, mind racing with trying to figure out what might have happened. “And I thought our last session was so…effective.”

“I’m sure it was,” the general assured her. “The second incident was really not such a big thing…a minor disrespect to Lieutenant Finn…but Lieutenant Finn has been advising me that I should take a zero tolerance stance when it comes to Hostile 17’s disrespect, and judging by the level it reached yesterday, I’m beginning to think he’s right. Would you be willing to assist me, Ms. Summers?”

Buffy smiled that false cruel smile that she was getting so good at. *Should that scare me?* she wondered. “Of course. It will be my pleasure,” she replied with a smirk.

Buffy used the key given to her by the general to unlock the door to Spike’s suite, feeling oddly nervous at the thought of talking to him again. After all, she told herself, they may have parted on reasonably decent terms with each other, but there was no denying that the vampire was harboring a certain resentment and distrust for her. *And why shouldn’t he?* she reminded herself again, when she felt her irritation and anger rise at the thought. *I left him here to go through this hell for a year. Why would he be glad to see me now?*

Spike jumped up from the sofa when she walked in. “Slayer!” he exclaimed, his tone a mixture of excitement and relief. “Am I glad to see you!”

Surprised, Buffy raised her eyebrows as she looked at him. “Wow. Was that a civil word I just heard, Spike? And…*why*, exactly did I hear it?”

Ignoring her jibe, he rolled his eyes in self-deprecation as he gestured for her to sit down, explaining, “Took a soddin’ huge chance, trying to start something with Finn today, after all that went on last night. I was hoping they’d send you in. If General Bitch decided to handle the matter herself, I’d have been bloody well buggered.” He let out a deep breath he had been holding.

*Too weird,* Buffy thought. *He doesn’t have to breathe.*

“So…” Buffy tried to make sense of his words. “You picked a fight with Riley just hoping that they would send me in here to punish you?” Her tone suggested that she thought it an incredibly stupid thing to do. “Great plan.”

Spike gave her a lascivious grin at her choice of words. If she was going to mock him, he could mock her back. “What if I did, Slayer?” he asked her, his tone low and suggestive. “Hope you’d come to ‘punish’ me?”

“God, Spike,ew!” Buffy gave him a disgusted look, trying to cover the surprising fact that that low, suggestive voice was actually a bit of a turn-on. “Just tell me what’s going on. What’s so urgent that you had to risk extreme bodily harm to get me here?”

Spike’s mocking smile faded instantly as he stood up. “Come with me, Slayer,” he said softly, leading her toward a back room.

She reminded herself that he was absolutely incapable of hurting her as she followed him into the dimly lit room. The only light was a small bedside lamp…this was Spike’s bedroom! Buffy felt very uncomfortable…for the approximately two seconds before she forgot all her confusing, scary Spike-thoughts, when her eyes fell on the small, frail creature asleep on the bed.

Diana.

Here, up close, the resemblance was stunning…and sickening, to Buffy, realizing what that resemblance had cost this girl.

*Vampire,* she reminded herself, then shook her head, mentally correcting the thought. *No. She was a girl. These people made her a vampire. A vampire who’s never fed on humans, never hurt anyone, completely incapable of hurting anyone…* That line of thought was particularly troubling to her, so she quickly put it out of her head for the moment.

“She wasn’t this bad last time I saw her,” she pointed out, frowning. “What happened?”

“Captain Cardboard happened,” Spike replied with disgust. “I suppose he thought the man with the bullwhip didn’t get to finish the job…so he’d finish it for him.” Buffy looked up sharply at the strange note she heard in Spike’s voice, trying to place the emotion. Then she did, and her heart went out to him before she could sternly order it not to. He thought that Riley had beaten Diana again because of his own attempt to save her.

“You did all you could,” she said softly, not taking her eyes off Diana.

He looked up at her in surprise, momentarily distracted from his thoughts. Was the Slayer actually attempting to make him feel better? She didn’t seem terribly concerned with him; her eyes were riveted on his battered childe.

“I need you to help me get her out,” he stated without preamble.

She looked up at him sharply. “I am,” she replied carefully. “I’m going to get you all out.” She paused before continuing hesitantly, “As…soon as I…figure out…how.” She frowned.

Spike shook his head. “At the risk of sounding ungrateful, Slayer,” and the way he said “ungrateful” was an insult in itself, he finished in a hard voice, “Not good enough.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows again as she stared at him, waiting for further explanation.

“Finn’s getting worse every day. The things he does to her…the shape she’s in when she gets here…” He paused, shaking his head as he looked at the sleeping fledgling. He looked her in the eye as he added matter-of-factly, “I won’t be much help to you if I’m dust, love. And that’s what’s gonna bloody well happen if something doesn’t change. I can’t keep just watching this, but with this soddin’ chip in my head I can’t do enough damage to help her…just enough to get myself dusted.”

Buffy did not respond; she heard the ring of truth in his words, but did not know how she could get Diana out without arousing the general’s suspicion. “We’ll come up with something,” she said vaguely, hoping it would be enough to appease him.

It wasn’t.

“I’ve been thinking, Slayer, and I’ve got an idea,” he told her. “You still got your little Scoobies club following you around out there?”

She smiled in spite of his derisive tone, nodding.

“Red…the witch…she’s right handy with a computer, isn’t she?” he asked.

Buffy nodded, looking at him now, interest in her eyes.

“Here’s the deal, Slayer,” he began, holding her gaze. “All the chips for all the vamps in this entire operation are controlled by a computer that sends out the signal in the main control room. These soldier blokes don’t usually walk around this place too heavily armed; they count on the chips to keep the vamps under control. So…if the chips were out of commission…getting out would be a walk in the park…and your girl the computer whiz…”

“No,” Buffy said, her voice hardening as she looked away from him. “I’m not going to deactivate the chips that are the only things keeping these vampires from killing.”

Spike’s anger rising at her unreasonable attitude, he almost snarled, “Diana’s never killed anyone…never *hurt* anyone…”

“Ok, so that works for your children,” Buffy broke in defensively. “What about the hundreds of other vamps they have here? What about the ones that killed for years, until they got the chips? You want me to just let them loose on the general population?”

“Oh, come on, Slayer,” he smirked, but it was masking a growing rage. “They get too out of line, you could just do your job for a change. Slay ‘em.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, turning on him angrily.

“Nothing, Slayer. ‘M just wonderin’ where the Slayer’s been for the past year while this thing’s been brewing, getting more and more powerful, and if maybe if she’d done her job to begin with we wouldn’t be here now! Oh, that’s right! She’s been too busy shaggin’ a soddin’ *rapist*!” he spat out the words at her.

Defensive fury consumed her and before she knew what she was doing she had raised her fist. The look on Spike’s face froze her hand. There was no fear in his eyes, but rather a fury to match her own, and a powerful challenge as his eyes of blue flame burned into hers…and suddenly she wondered how far she was from becoming just like the Initiative soldiers.

“Go ahead, Slayer,” he said in a very low, dangerous voice, taking a step toward her. “It’s always easier to shut the truth up than to face it, isn’t it?”

Buffy opened her mouth to retort, but was stopped by a stirring from the bed that drew both their attention.

A sleepy, tousled blonde head rose from the pillow, and Diana gazed up at them blankly, glancing between her sire and the stranger. At the look on the woman’s face, and the almost tangible tension in the room, a look of fear came into her eyes.

“Sire?” she whispered timidly, reaching out her hand for him.

In an instant he was on one knee at the bedside, holding her hand in one of his and gently touching her brow with the other. “’S all right, pet,” he murmured softly to her, startling Buffy with his gentleness toward her. “Nothing to fear, yeah? I’m right here.”

Diana’s wide innocent eyes stared into Buffy’s, and she had to look away. “W-who…?” Diana began.

“She’s all right, love,” Spike assured her. “She’s here to…” His voice broke off, and he looked up at Buffy with a demanding question in his fierce eyes.

Buffy took a cautious step toward the bed, looking Diana in the eye again. “I’m here to help,” she finished the thought he had left in a decisive tone. Then she turned her eyes to meet Spike’s, gazing up at her with less rage, but no less challenge than before.

Nodding her head toward the door while holding his gaze, she then turned to leave the bedroom.

“Be right back, pet,” Spike reassured Diana in that hushed, soft voice. “Got some business to discuss.”

Content that she was all right, he followed Buffy out into the living room.

“So you gonna help me or not Slayer?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and looking her straight in the eye.

Buffy met his gaze firmly, but said nothing for a few moments. Then she said quietly, “Find me a way to do this that won’t loose hundreds of actually dangerous vampires on the public, and I’ll do it. I want to help you, Spike. But I can’t be responsible for people getting killed.”

Spike obviously had more that he wanted to say, but realized that that was as much as he was going to get from Buffy at that moment. He nodded once in agreement. “I’ll find it then, Slayer. But when I do, you’ve got to get her out of here.”

Buffy nodded back at him, her face solemn, as she turned toward the door. “Let me know when you do,” she said.

He had already turned back toward the bedroom when she stopped just short of the doorway.

“Spike.”

He turned; she didn’t. “Yes, Slayer?”

She paused, her back turned to him as she spoke. “Riley and I broke up last year.” Another pause. “Right after you left.”

And without another word, the Slayer opened the door and walked out, leaving Spike to wonder about her words, and why she had felt the need to say them.


	12. Chapter 12

“So tell me again why we’re even *considering* this?” Xander requested in a voice of extreme annoyance, giving the Slayer an apprehensive look from where he sat on her sofa.  
  
Buffy cringed inwardly at the blatant disgust in his tone. She had known when she had decided to call this meeting that it was not going to be easy. Convincing her friends that they could trust Spike was going to be hard enough, not to mention convincing them to take great risk to free Diana. Not that they even had a way to save her, yet, she thought impatiently.  
  
But she knew Spike, and she knew that he *would* find a way as he had promised. And when he did, she did not want to spring the news on her friends then. As difficult as she had known it would be, she knew the best thing was to fill them in now on the things she had seen and plans, however tentative, she had made.  
  
“Xander,” she began hesitantly, trying to find the word to convince him as she sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing Xander and Anya. “If you had *seen* this girl…what they did to her…”  
  
“Vampire, Buffy,” Xander corrected her, meeting her eyes seriously. “Not a girl. Not anymore.”  
  
“Because they turned her!” Willow pointed out from where she stood, leaning against the wall, a frown of confusion on her face. She did not seem sure of which side to take in this debate.  
  
“And that’s sad,” Xander’s tone suggested that he really didn’t find it so. “But *now* she is a vampire. And Buffy, I am all for stopping the Initiative. Don’t get me wrong. They’re turning people, and we need to stop them. But helping to free a killer…”  
  
“She’s never killed anyone.” Darian’s voice breaking into the conversation startled them all. He had stood awkwardly in the doorway during the whole meeting thus far, without saying a word. But as he spoke now, his voice was bitter and angry, though his eyes were downcast. “She’s had a chip since she was turned and she’s never hurt anyone.” As soon as he finished speaking, he glanced anxiously up at Buffy to gauge her reaction, and Buffy got the uncomfortable feeling that he was afraid of being punished for talking.  
  
Xander was silent for a moment at that. But when he spoke again, his tone held such barely restrained anger that Darian flinched. “Because she can’t,” he pointed out, slowly and deliberately. “She hasn’t hurt anyone because she can’t. If getting her out involves deactivating her chip, it’d be letting a killer loose, Buffy! We can’t do that!”  
  
“Spike is looking for a way to do it without deactivating the chip,” Buffy argued.  
  
“Spike,” Xander muttered, looking away in disgust. “That’s another thing, Buff. I know you’re the Slayer here, not me, and you know what you’re doing but…are you sure you know what you’re doing? This is *Spike*, and you’re talking about trusting him enough to come up with this plan…”  
  
“Xander, I’m in the Initiative now! I have more access than he does, I can double-check anything he tells me!” Buffy interrupted, though she wasn’t really sure if her words were true or not. She didn’t know how much clearance she had yet, but she just had to convince the others to go along, and was getting desperate.  
  
“I don’t know, Buff,” Xander said with a heavy sigh. “It just seems like an awful lot of effort to rescue a *vampire*.” He practically spat out the last word.  
  
Buffy swallowed back her irritation. “Xander,” she began, searching out her words as she spoke. “Spike is our only contact in the Initiative who wants to take them down. The only ally we have at this point. And if saving this girl keeps him from getting dusted, well …it just might be worth it. He cares so much about his girl, Xander. You should have seen it, he almost got himself killed, he was so…” Her voice trailed off at the looks she was getting from everyone in the room.  
  
Willow’s look was thoughtful, as if something was just dawning on her. Anya had a smug smile of understanding just beginning on her face. Even Darian was looking up at her wide-eyed, wondering.   
  
Xander looked aghast.  
  
“What?” Buffy asked, hoping it did not sound as defensive as she felt.  
  
“So…this is really about saving *Spike*,” Xander concluded, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Because we need him!” Buffy insisted. *God, still too defensive. Take it down a notch, Buffy.*  
  
“No, Buffy,” Xander said, looking her in the eye with just a hint of accusation in his eyes. “We really don’t.”  
  
“Look,” Buffy sighed, standing up, realizing that she was getting nowhere with him and suddenly very tired of the meeting. “This is not even anything definite. I told Spike the *only* way I would do it would be if I could do it *without* deactivating the chips. He may not even find the way. But if he does…if she’s chipped…what difference does it make to you, Xander? She can’t hurt anyone!”  
  
“It’s just a waste of time. You’re supposed to *kill* vampires, Buffy, not save them. Vampires are killers, Buffy. Killers. Or did you forget all that somewhere during your tour of the Initiative?” Xander demanded, standing with her. The implication of his words was clear.  
  
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to tell me how to do my job, Xander,” Buffy said coldly, trying to keep her anger from showing and failing miserably.  
  
Xander lowered his head and walked past her toward the door, muttering, but she still heard him distinctly, “I’d appreciate it if you’d *do* your job!”  
  
Anya followed him quickly as he headed for the door, shooting Buffy an apologetic look. At least Buffy knew that Anya understood, but unfortunately she would go along with Xander on most things. Willow was looking very unhappy and confused; she did not move from where she stood as Xander pushed rudely past Darian as he went through the doorway and headed outside. Darian flinched when Xander touched him, and suddenly Buffy was furious.  
  
She stood there for a moment, trying to rein in her anger. But it was no good. “You know what?” she said aloud to no one in particular, her anger building. “No!” She shook her head as she headed for the door. “No, I don’t think so!” She strode purposefully out onto the porch after Xander, leaving Willow and Darian just standing and waiting, not wanting to involve themselves in the conflict.  
  
A few moments later, Buffy walked back in. “That big dramatic exit would have worked better if he hadn’t already driven off,” she said in a slightly pouty voice.  
  
Willow gave her a small smile, but Darian was staring at the floor. Buffy put a gentle hand on his arm, and he jumped, startled, turning quickly to face her.  
  
“It’s all right,” she said softly. “Just me.” She paused before saying awkwardly, “I’m – sorry, Darian. He didn’t…didn’t mean…I hope you know he…he wouldn’t…” She gave up, realizing that none of the explanations she was attempting to make had even a grain of truth to them, and would therefore not be convincing to someone of any intelligence… and Darian *was* intelligent.  
  
“It’s fine, Ma’am,” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
Buffy made a decision as she looked at his uncertain expression. “My name is Buffy,” she said quietly. “And I’d prefer for you to call me that, ok? ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel fifty.”  
  
He looked up at her sharply for a moment, a dubious expression on his face. “As you wish…B-Buffy,” he stumbled over the word, uncomfortable with the familiarity suggested by its use.  
  
Not sure why, but needing him to feel safe, Buffy offered the only reassurance she honestly could. “He may not understand…but he’ll do what I say, for the most part…he won’t hurt you…and he won’t stop me from getting Diana out of there, or taking out the Initiative.”  
  
When Buffy arrived at the Initiative the next day and reported to the general, she was surprised when Cordova placed a familiar key in her hand.  
  
“Again?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. *Spike needs to lay off,* she thought. *Or this will stop working.* If Cordova thought that her “techniques” were not effective, she could lose her only way of getting in contact with Spike.  
  
The next moment, however, her fears were assuaged, when the general laughed softly and shook her head. “No, Ms. Summers. I think you got through to him last time. I just thought you ought to have a key. For future times when you have to punish him…” She smiled cruelly and added with a slight shrug, “or want to.”  
  
Buffy forced a laugh which to her credit did not sound forced.   
  
As soon as the general dismissed her, she headed for Spike’s room. If nothing else, she had to at least let him know she had a key now and was free to come and go to his room as she pleased, to prevent him from any further kamikaze-style methods of getting her there.  
  
When the door opened, Spike was standing in his tiny kitchen area, looking toward the door with curiosity and apprehension. When he saw her he said nothing, but raised his eyebrows questioningly. As she neared him, he asked with a smirk, “Did I do something I don’t know about, love? Because I thought I was a *very* good boy last night.”  
  
Buffy suddenly realized that Spike was not wearing a shirt, and God, he had sexy abs, and then she suddenly wondered if Diana had been there last night, and then mentally gave herself a slap in the face for the thought. *You shouldn’t care if she was here last night or not,* she reminded herself. *Evil, soulless vampire. Evil soulless vampire.* she chanted mentally, closing her eyes for a moment. *Evil sexy vampire...No!* She opened her eyes suddenly, hoping her panic at that last thought did not show in them.  
  
Judging by the slightly suspicious frown on his face, *something* showed there. “You got a reason for this visit, Slayer?” he asked her slowly, a smoldering expression in his dark blue eyes.  
  
“Just needed to let you know I’ve got a key now…so you don’t have to go pissing off the soldiers to get me sent in here anymore. I’ll check in with you pretty often, so you can stop risking your life,” she explained, trying to sound as if she was terribly irritated by him, instead of terribly aroused by him.  
  
He glanced at the key in her hand and nodded. “Right,” he said softly, a speculative look on his face.  
  
*God, how much could he tell from a look?* she wondered desperately, surprised at her own sudden nervousness. *Grow up, Buffy!* she snapped at herself. *It’s not like you’ve never seen a half-naked guy before. It’s not like you’ve never seen a NAKED guy before for that matter. So quit drooling over Spike…SPIKE, for God’s sake…and focus on your duty.*   
  
Mental self-lecture out of the way, she turned away from him in what she hoped was a disinterested way, then turned back slightly as if on an afterthought, still not looking at him, and asked, “Any progress on a way to get Diana out of here?”  
  
“I’m trying to find out what I can about how the systems work here,” he replied, frustration evident in his tone. It clearly was taking longer than he wanted it to. “To see if maybe there’s a way…” He hesitated, and Buffy turned around to face him.  
  
“What?” she asked.  
  
“Slayer,” he began, obviously unsure of what her response would be. “From what I’m hearing, I’m not sure but I think the controls for me and my children are separate from the others. If I can figure a way to get Diana’s chip down without doing anything to the others, would you do it?”  
  
Buffy thought for a moment. The question was mind-boggling to her. It was true, Diana had never been without the chip, and therefore had never hurt anyone. But if the chip went down, wouldn’t she revert to her true nature and become dangerous? Could she risk that? But the thought of the truly innocent creature being repeatedly raped and tortured in this place frightened her more than the thought of the threat she *might* be if released.  
  
Was that wrong? she wondered.  
  
She didn’t know. Finally she replied, “I need to think about this, Spike. Find out if you can do it first. If you can…ask me again.”  
  
Her response frustrated him. “That’s not good enough, Slayer,” he argued. “Diana can’t take it in here much longer…*I* can’t…” His voice broke off as it began to tremble slightly, and he looked away from her.  
  
Buffy was silent for a moment, turning back toward the door. “I’m sorry if it’s not good enough, Spike,” she said, and he could hear in her voice that she sincerely meant it. “But it’s all I can give you right now.” And without another word, or waiting for a reply, she once again left him to his thoughts.


	13. Chapter 13

“There’s always the containment spell,” Willow suggested with an uncertain shrug of her shoulders. She and Buffy were sitting at a table at the Espresso Pump, discussing potential options.   
  
At this point, Willow was the only one of her friends that Buffy knew would keep a fairly open mind about the situation, so she had wanted to take some time to talk to her without anyone else – namely Xander – around to turn the conversation into a shouting match.  
  
Now, Buffy was very glad that she had decided to talk to Willow. “See, that’s why you’re the brains and I’m just the muscle,” she replied with an eager smile. “Why didn’t I even think of that?”  
  
“We could keep her in the basement, with Darian,” Willow continued, nodding, as she thought the idea out further. “I could just make the spell a little more specific, make it keep her in the basement, not just the house. And then if no one but you goes down there, nobody’s in danger. I mean, you’re the Slayer. You could easily handle one little vamp who’s never fed on a human before.”  
  
“Two little vamps who’ve never fed on a human before,” Buffy reminded Willow, before frowning to herself and adding, “And that was a totally pointless correction, wasn’t it? Same difference. No problem for me.”  
  
Willow nodded apologetically. “Yep. Zero threat. Totally safe, harmless solution.” She looked very pleased with herself.  
  
“Ok,” Buffy decided. “So we’ve got a way to handle it. Whenever Spike comes up with some actual information for me.”  
  
“Speaking of Spike…” Willow began innocently.  
  
“Let’s not,” Buffy interrupted her, her tone short. “Speak of Spike. Nothing to speak of.”  
  
“Ok,” Willow shrugged, not wanting to start another confrontation with Buffy. As the two of them got up to leave, she added in a carefully expressionless tone, “But if there *was* something…to speak of…you could, Buffy. It’d be okay.”  
  
Buffy looked up at her sharply, trying to gauge her expression. Her face was open and accepting, and suddenly Buffy felt better just knowing that Willow would not have thought her disgusting or bad if she *had* had feelings for the blonde vampire…the incredibly hot, perfectly built….*evil*, *soulless* vampire! she reminded herself hastily. But she did not have feelings; there were no feelings, she insisted.   
  
*He could have new information for me,* she pointed out to herself suddenly. *I’ll stop by his room again today.*  
  
Spike strode quickly down the hallway toward his suite. He was just leaving his afternoon training session with his children, and had exactly ten minutes to be back in his room in order to avoid punishment.   
  
The door was always left open while he was in a training session. A guard came by every day, exactly ten minutes after his session ended, to be sure that he was in his suite. If he was there, the guard would simply lock the door, confining him to the suite.  
  
If he was not, the guard would immediately notify the general and the chip would be manually set off, and not stop firing until she found him…possibly not even then, depending on her opinion of his explanation.  
  
He always made it back on time.  
  
His walk took him past the general’s office, and he hazarded a glance in the open door. That was odd, he thought. The door was almost never open, and especially not with no one inside. A moment later he stopped short, something else registering with him. He glanced around the hallway; it was deserted. Slipping back to the doorway to the office, he saw that his eyes had not deceived him; Cordova had left her laptop computer on her desk.  
  
This was very unusual. Spike had long since guessed that that laptop must contain information on her little personal pet project, by the way that she absolutely never left it out of her sight. It was always either within her view or locked away somewhere – never just out in the open, unattended like this.   
  
The beginning of an idea pushed its way into his mind. It would be risky, but the thin computer could hold the information he needed to save Diana. Banishing all second thoughts, he quickly entered the office. Opening the supply cabinet, he hurriedly found the item he was looking for – a small box of blank discs. Grabbing a handful with one hand and the laptop with the other, he moved back to the doorway and glanced around the corner. The hall was still deserted. Quickly he slipped back out into the hallway and hurried to his room, holding his contraband under his arm so that they were almost completely concealed, at least to anyone’s casual glance.  
  
When he reached his room he let out a relieved breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He took his stolen items to his bedroom and hid them, shutting the bedroom door as he went back into the living room to wait for the guard. As soon as he had come by, and the door to his suite had been securely locked, he had gone back into his bedroom to retrieve the laptop.  
  
Scanning through the general’s files, he found nothing immediately, obviously useful, but he did find many files that had been encrypted to prevent their being read by anyone without the password – namely, anyone but General Cordova. He inserted the first of the blank discs into the computer and began saving all the encrypted files to discs. Once his task was complete, he hid the items in his room again and waited anxiously, hoping against hope that the Slayer would come by today, so he could give her the discs and laptop and have them out of his hands.  
  
The Slayer.  
  
There was another bloody unsettling topic for his thoughts, he remembered. He had still not gotten over his shock at her behavior the last time he had seen her. At first he had thought he was imagining it, wishful thinking or something. There was no way in the world that the Slayer was attracted to him – never mind the obvious desire in her eyes as she had all but ogled his shirtless self, and then promptly refused to look at him at all for the rest of the visit. But he had evidence that a human man would not have, courtesy of his enhanced vampire senses, specifically smell.  
  
The Slayer had definitely been aroused. By *him*.  
  
The idea was mind-boggling, and he had quite honestly been too stunned to do anything about it, even if he had any idea what he *wanted* to do about it. But since then, he had done a lot of thinking about it, and decided that this little development could be used to his advantage – in more ways than one. He smiled to himself as he thought of the various ways he could play their next encounter.  
  
This was going to be fun.  
  
Buffy entered the room a few minutes later, dismayed to find that Spike was once again standing in his kitchen in nothing but a pair of ridiculously tight Levis and his black boots, his back turned to her. Strategically, he did not spare her so much as a glance.  
  
“You know for someone with no natural body heat, you certainly spend a lot of time half-naked,” she grumbled, coming to sit at the kitchen counter, resting her elbows on it, and her chin in her hand.  
  
He turned to give her a deep, smoldering look which slowly transformed into a seductive smile. “I make my own heat,” he replied softly, his eyes never leaving hers.  
  
Buffy was stunned speechless. Was he *coming on to her*? The nerve of that undead, evil fiend! Surely he didn’t think that she would respond, just because he used his low, sexy voice, and walked around half-dressed, showing off his…beautifully buff…sexy…  
  
*Stop putting ‘Spike’ and ‘sexy’ in sentences together and just find out if he has any information,* she ordered herself. But before she could enforce it, he was coming around the counter toward her in that stalking, predatory way that was so distinctly his, and her mouth was too dry to function.  
  
Which was more than she could say for the rest of her.  
  
“I have something to give you, Slayer,” he went on, standing only a couple of feet from her and never breaking eye contact, a slightly smug smile coming over his face.  
  
“Wha…” Buffy could barely form the word. *What is he so smug about?* she wondered with desperate irritation.   
  
Then he continued, “It’s in my bedroom. Would you like to come and get it?”  
  
Fighting for control, Buffy swallowed hard. “I think you can handle it yourself,” she replied with a smug smile of her own. He wasn’t the only one who could come up with a witty double entendre, damn it!  
  
His slight smirked widened a bit at that. *So the Slayer wants to play,* he thought, his excitement building at the thought. *I hope she doesn’t want to win, ‘cause she’ll be bloody disappointed.*  
  
He leaned just a bit closer to her, his eyes still holding hers firm with his intense gaze, his lips parting just slightly as he edged closer to her. He laughed inwardly as she moved in closer to him, unthinking, her own lips moist and parted in anticipation.  
  
At the last possible second he leaned away, saying in a much lighter tone, “Right, then. Be right back, Slayer.” And turned toward his bedroom, leaving her stunned, and desperately frustrated.  
  
He returned a few moments later with the discs and laptop, all business now. Holding up the discs he said, “These may have info on Whore-dova’s little plan. Can’t rightly tell, they’re in some sort of soddin’ code. Figured your witch might have a go at ‘em.” Holding up the laptop, his voice a bit more serious, he said, “And this needs to go back to the good general’s desk, preferably before she notices it’s gone.”  
  
“You stole her laptop?” Buffy asked incredulously, lustful Spike-thoughts momentarily forgotten. That was of the good. She focused on building up a good mad.  
  
“It was just lying there unattended; thought it might have something useful,” he said, his tone just slightly defensive. “You’ll be thanking me if you end up using it to take this place down.”  
  
“No, you’ll be thanking *me*, Spike, when I manage to shut this place down.” She paused. “And for not kicking your ass for putting me in a position like this!” she added irritably. “What if I get caught putting this back? There goes my in with the general.”  
  
“Well, if you think you can’t do it, Slayer…”  
  
“That’s *not* what I said,” she stated, her voice softening dangerously as she took the laptop from his hand and set it on the counter, leaning in closer to him as she did.  
  
Suddenly, he was not so sure who was in control of the game anymore.  
  
Time to remind them both.   
  
He stepped forward to match her advancement, his lips mere inches from hers. “Think you’re up to the challenge, then, Slayer?” he said in a low, almost-whisper, his eyes arresting hers again.  
  
He was so close that she could feel his oddly cool breath on her lips. She suppressed a shiver as she replied in a soft, husky voice to match his, “I’m up to *anything* you could send my way, Spike.”  
  
He could see that he had her again, wanting him, her eyes shining with desire. Right, then. Time to quit while he was ahead. With a bright smile, he said, “Good to know,” as he turned away from her. “You might wanna get that back to her office, not sure when she’ll be getting back.”  
  
And with no reasonable excuse to stay, the Slayer had no choice but to leave, fighting back her frustrated rage at the impossibly, infuriatingly sexy vampire.  
  
He watched her go with a satisfied smirk, laughing softly at his small victory.  
  
There were still a few things that were within his control.


	14. Chapter 14

Scanning the hallway to be sure she would not be observed, Buffy slipped into the general’s still-empty office and put the laptop back where Spike said it had been, then slipped out again, unseen by anyone.  
  
Mere moments later, General Cordova rounded the corner and went into her office. She was surprised and a little annoyed to see her laptop, just sitting on the desk unattended. Everyone knew that the information it held was vital, and could not be left just sitting out for anyone to get their hands on.  
  
With an irritated sigh she took her desk keys and unlocked a drawer, placing the laptop inside and locking it tight. Then she got up and walked out, locking her office door behind her, leaving for the day.  
  
*I’m going to have to have a word with Lieutenant Finn,* she thought. *If he’s going to be borrowing my laptop he’s going to have to be a bit more careful.*  
  
Riley waited until he was sure the general had left for the day, then glanced through the window looking into her office at the top of her desk. He smiled to himself, a cruel, self-satisfied smile. The laptop was no longer where he had placed it when he had finished with it earlier.  
  
Hostile 17 had taken the bait.  
  
Twenty minutes after Buffy left, Spike was pacing absently around his suite, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself, restless and bored. He almost wished the Slayer would come back. He smiled to at the memory. Now *that* had been fun! Making the Slayer want him, need him, her body responding to his advances against her better judgment…  
  
He frowned as he suddenly realized that the Slayer was not the only one who came away from the encounter less than satisfied.  
  
*Oh come on, now, mate,* he told himself. *She’s the bloody Slayer, it’s like a death wish! Have your fun with the bint but don’t let her get a hold of you.*  
  
Interrupting his thoughts, the door swung open again. His back was to the room but he smiled to himself. Should have known she couldn’t stay away. Turning slowly, he began, “So…just couldn’t stay away, Sl…” His words cut off suddenly when he saw who was standing in his doorway.  
  
Lieutenant Riley Finn.  
  
And Diana was not here today. And he had just committed some serious espionage. Odds were good that this was *not*.  
  
Forcing a mocking tone, he smirked at the lieutenant, who happened to have a particularly nasty smile on himself. Suddenly he was very, *very* glad that the Slayer had stopped by and taken a certain piece of evidence with her when she left.  
  
“Well, Lieutenant Finn,” he said in a voice that was mockingly polite. “To what do I owe the plea—oh, wait. Never mind.”  
  
Finn moved slowly to stand directly in front of him, as the two soldiers who accompanied him followed him into the suite and immediately began ransacking it, going through his meager belongings.  
  
“What’s all this, then?” Spike demanded, putting enough indignation in his tone to make him sound properly surprised by the inspection.  
  
Smiling coldly, Riley did not respond for a moment. Then, lightning quick, his fist shot out in a hard backhand blow across Spike’s face, that sent him staggering a few steps back, into the counter.  
  
“I think you know, Hostile,” Riley replied softly, still smiling with menace in his eyes. “Not that you have the right to ask.”  
  
“Well, I *don’t* know, Lieutenant,” Spike said quietly, righting himself and wiping blood from his mouth, looking Riley in the eye with barely disguised hatred. “And they’re not going to find anything. So you’ve really got no cause to get so bloody violent about it.” As he finished the smirk returned to his lips.  
  
“Maybe they will, maybe they won’t,” Riley shrugged as he advanced on the cornered vampire, his anger at receiving mockery where he had expected fear showing in his eyes despite his outwardly cool demeanor. When he had closed the distance between them, he struck again, driving his fist into Spike’s stomach this time. When he doubled over in pain, Riley smashed his doubled fists down on the back of his neck, knocking him to his knees. “And I don’t know,” Riley laughed. “I don’t mind the violence. Or maybe I just like hitting *you*.” With those words he turned toward the bedroom to check on the other soldiers.  
  
Spike stayed on his knees for a moment, breathing hard, gathering his strength to rise. “Well,” he choked out, his lip curled up in a sneer as he struggled to his feet, “that’s one more thing you and the Slayer’s *other* ex have in common, then, mate.” He paused for effect before finishing, “You know, *besides* not being able to hold onto her.”  
  
Riley whirled around, fury in his eyes. Without a word he grabbed the vampire by a handful of his hair and slammed his head into the counter, hard, causing him to drop back to his knees, fighting not to black out. Riley followed the blow up with a couple of vicious kicks to his ribs, snarling, “Shut up! You pathetic little freak! You don’t know anything about her!”  
  
“Know her a sight better than you ever did, mate. And never had half the chance to know her that you did,” Spike countered, gasping for breath and wondering even as he spoke why he couldn’t seem to manage to just shut the bloody hell up.  
  
A cruel rage shone in Riley’s eyes as he drew his nightstick from its sheath on his side. “I said *shut up*!” he snarled, bringing the heavy weapon down hard across the side of the vampire’s head, knocking him out cold.  
  
“Sir,” one of the soldiers addressed Riley as he came out of the bedroom. “There’s nothing here.” He glanced down at the unconscious vampire crumpled on the floor, without a trace of compassion or concern. “Looks like he didn’t take it after all.”  
  
“Damn it!” Riley hissed, slamming the nightstick down on the counter with enough force that the young soldier standing before him jumped; Lieutenant Finn had quite the temper.  
  
He had been so sure that Spike would take the bait, would fall directly into the trap he had set. When he had passed the general’s office and seen that the laptop was gone, he had been certain that that was what had happened. This would be the last straw, he had been sure. General Cordova would certainly agree to the execution of Hostile 17 if she found that his insubordination had gone so far as to have stolen from her, and especially to have stolen such highly classified information as was concealed on that laptop.  
  
But apparently, he hadn’t. So where was the laptop?  
  
Riley took out his cell phone and dialed the general’s number. When she answered he said, “I just wanted to be sure you got your laptop. I left it in your office.”  
  
“I did, Lieutenant,” she said coolly, her voice dripping with disapproval, obvious even over the phone. “It’s locked up in my desk. And in the future *if* you borrow it again, I would appreciate your not leaving it just lying around for anyone to find and pick up.”  
  
“Yes, General. I’m sorry, General. It won’t happen again,” he assured her through gritted teeth before hanging up.  
  
He glared down at the unconscious form slumped against the base of the counter, whom he held responsible for his current failure and embarrassment. Resentfully he aimed another kick at the vampire’s battered ribcage.  
  
“Sooner or later, you’re gonna slip up so bad she can’t help but finally do something about it,” he muttered, though he knew Spike couldn’t hear him. “And I’m gonna make sure that it’s sooner.”  
  
“Oh, goodie!” Willow squealed in little-girlish excitement when Buffy placed the three computer discs in her hand. “This should be lots of fun…in the I’m-a-total-and-complete-lifeless-nerd sense of fun,” she added sheepishly.  
  
“He said it’s in some sort of code,” Buffy helpfully supplied.  
  
“Now why does *this* sound familiar?” Xander asked peevishly, frowning as he took a seat next to Willow at Buffy’s kitchen table, where Willow had her own laptop set up.  
  
“This is *not* like last time, Xander,” Buffy insisted. “Why would Spike do anything to try and sabotage us when we’re trying to take down the people who are holding him prisoner?”  
  
Xander’s suspicions about the vampire’s motives were not abated, but he really had no answer to that question, and the flaring Slayer-temper was beginning to show in her eyes, so for once he simply kept his mouth shut.  
  
Willow put the first of the discs into the computer, as the others waited in anticipation. After a few moments, she frowned. “This looks kinda complicated,” she admitted. “It could take me a while to break this encryption.”  
  
“How long’s a while?” Buffy asked anxiously.  
  
“A couple days? At least?” Willow’s tone was apologetic as she looked up at her friend.  
  
Buffy sighed. “All right. I just really hope that this is info that can help us, and we’re not wasting our time on this.”  
  
“Too late for that,” Xander muttered under his breath, but loud enough that Buffy heard him.  
  
She had had enough.  
  
“You know, Xander,” she began, her anger showing more in her voice for its very calmness, than if she had actually raised her voice. “You don’t have to waste *your* time if you don’t want to!”  
  
He looked up at her, stunned. She guessed that he had expected her to simply let the comment pass. Not tonight. “What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded, defensive.  
  
“Just what I said,” she replied firmly. “If you don’t want to help with this, Will and I can handle it.” She paused, then went on, her voice softer, “But I have to do this.”  
  
“Buffy,” Xander’s eyes softened at the look on Buffy’s face, and his voice grew gentler as well. “I know it’s terrible what these creeps have done to that girl, and that soldier, whoever he is, is a disgusting pervert who deserves to be punished for it. But I just think that your priorities are not quite in order at the moment.”  
  
Willow gave him a look of mock-horror. “Ugh, channeling Giles much?” she asked.  
  
“It’s Riley,” Buffy said suddenly, her eyes downcast, but her voice clear and certain.  
  
“What?” they both asked her at once.  
  
“The disgusting pervert is Riley,” Buffy clarified; there were tears in her eyes when she raised them to meet those of her friends.  
  
Neither said a word for a long moment.  
  
“My God,” Xander finally whispered.  
  
Willow looked stricken, a speechless horror in her eyes.  
  
“She looks like me,” Buffy told them, her voice almost a whisper. “So much like me. He *made* himself a – a *sex-slave* that looks *just like me*.” The impact of the words in the stillness that had suddenly taken over the room was devastating.  
  
“Buffy,” Xander began, his eyes wide and guilt-ridden. “I’m sorry – I didn’t – I didn’t know!”  
  
“I know,” Buffy said quietly, her eyes downcast again. Then she looked up sharply to meet his eyes. “But that girl could *be* me, Xander. Seriously. With the Initiative behind him with their tasers and drugs and all, Riley seriously could have done that to *me*.” Her voice was intense with deep emotion. “That girl is in there – in – in my *place*, sort of…”  
  
“No, Buffy,” Willow interrupted her. “Don’t start blaming yourself for what’s happened to her, what Riley’s done…”  
  
“I don’t blame myself that he did that to her,” Buffy insisted, meeting Willow’s eyes briefly before looking away, and adding softly, “I blame myself that he’s still doing it.”


	15. Chapter 15

“I think I’ve got it!” Willow’s voice broke the solemn silence that had reigned in the room for hours, ever since Buffy’s revelation about Riley. “Man, I’m good!”  
  
“The best,” Buffy agreed, hurrying to look over her shoulder at the laptop screen.  
  
The odd symbols were changing to logical letters and numbers before their eyes as they watched in amazement. “Cool,” Buffy said, then frowned. “How’d you do it so fast?”  
  
Willow looked sheepish. “I got bored,” she shrugged, then reluctantly admitted, “It’s magic.”  
  
Buffy felt a vague sense of awe as she turned her wide eyes toward her best friend. Willow was getting pretty good with this magic stuff. *Pretty cool to have that much power,* Buffy thought. *Our little Willow! Good for her!*  
  
The first disc held several rather large files including the words “Project Viper” in the title.  
  
“I’m thinking jackpot,” Xander said quietly, scanning the list.  
  
“One way to find out,” Buffy shrugged as she looked expectantly to Willow, who clicked on the first in the list of files.  
  
A quick glance revealed that these discs did indeed hold detailed, classified information on the Initiative and its activities, specifically Cordova’s pet project, the vampire army. However, the heavily loaded military jargon made Buffy’s head spin with confusion.  
  
“We’re gonna have to go through all this later,” she said. “Can we print it out?”  
  
Willow gave her a dark look. “If we go buy like, 5,000 sheets of paper, yeah.”  
  
“Yuck,” Buffy grimaced in distaste at the thought of *reading* that many sheets of paper. “Well, for now, let’s just see what we can find on the controls at the Initiative. The chips, the electronic locks, that sort of thing, so we can try to find a way to get around them.”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Xander broke in as Buffy and Willow exchanged a pained look; they had known this was coming. “Getting *around* the chips? I thought we discussed and decided, there was to be no ‘getting around’ of the chips!”  
  
“We kinda – got around the – not getting around,” Willow hesitantly admitted.  
  
Buffy quickly explained about the containment spell, before Xander could blow up.  
  
When she was finished, he let out a heavy sigh. “At the risk of being not so politely asked to leave,” he said pointedly, “May I just express how much I absolutely *hate* this idea?”  
  
“Ok, you’ve expressed,” Buffy replied, rolling her eyes. “Now back to planning.”  
  
After about an hour of scanning files and discussing them, they were finally beginning to get somewhere.  
  
“Ok, so all the chips are controlled by the main computer in the control room. So if I can patch into their system using some of the coding I found on these discs,” Willow said slowly, thinking it out as she went along. “I could shut it down. But it would turn off *all* the chips, Buffy.” She shot her friend an apprehensive look.  
  
“But they have a back-up, right?” Buffy reminded her.  
  
“Yeah,” she nodded. “From whenever they find out the controls are down, it’ll take them about twenty minutes to get them back up again. So we’ll only have a really short time.”  
  
To Xander’s worried frown, Buffy added reassuringly, “And the thing is, if we do this at night, when everything’s shut down, it won’t even matter if the chips go down, because all the plain old vamps, not Spike’s vamps, will be locked in their cells. The locks are electronic and they won’t be able to get out. Spike and Diana are in regular rooms with key locks on the outside of the doors. The chips’ programming keeps them from breaking the locks, but once they go down he can break out and go get Diana, and get her out to the back exit…”  
  
“Where we’ll be waiting with the van,” Willow said, referring to her old, beaten-up but reliable current mode of transportation.  
  
“Buffy,” Xander began, his voice filled with worry, “if you get caught doing this…”  
  
“Very little chance of that, as long as I don’t go in. We can have Spike just bring her to the back exits…”  
  
“And then what happens to Spike?” Darian asked suddenly, his voice very soft.  
  
Silence filled the room. Buffy frowned, as the words sank in. She hadn’t even given a thought to that. She looked at the young vampire who searched her face with wide eyes filled with fear and concern.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Xander asked impatiently.  
  
“When they review the surveillance tapes later and see that he helped get her out…” Darian’s voice was trembling. “The general will kill him.” He paused, swallowing hard, before adding, “Eventually.”  
  
Buffy felt sick as his meaning sank in.  
  
“I – I can figure out a way to take the cameras down, too,” Willow suggested. “You know, through the computer system, or – or magic, if I have to.”  
  
Buffy nodded. “We’ll have to,” she agreed, feeling relieved. She needed for Spike to be at the Initiative, at least a little longer, as a contact to get information, but she hated the thought of his suffering for helping her. It surprised her how much she hated it.  
  
“So we go in late, like midnight,” Xander began the recap.  
  
“When there’s just one guard on duty in the control room,” Buffy nodded.  
  
“That’s it?” Xander was surprised.  
  
Buffy shrugged. “A bunch of chipped, helpless vampires, locked in electrified cells don’t require much guarding.”  
  
“And then we deactivate the chips and cameras so Spike and Diana can get out of their rooms without the chips firing and down the halls to the exit without being seen,” Willow continued.  
  
“We’ll have the van parked at the rear exit waiting, Spike brings Diana out to us and we go. End of story,” Xander finished, sounding satisfied.  
  
“They’ll know it was him,” Darian broke in again, turning fearful eyes on Buffy, begging her with his eyes not to let this happen. “First me, then Diana escaping…”  
  
“He’s a big boy, Darian,” Xander interrupted, irritated and dismissive. “He can take care of himself.”  
  
But all Buffy could picture was Spike, lying on the floor of the room where Diana had been beaten, helpless even to rise as the general had savagely tortured him. “They won’t have any proof that it’s him,” she insisted, more to convince and reassure herself than Darian. “The general thinks he’s useful to her…and as long as she thinks that she’s not gonna kill him.”  
  
The conversation went on, though Darian looked as if he wanted to say more, and only didn’t due to his continued fear of the Slayer. Buffy’s mind did not catch up with the conversation for a very long time.  
  
The next morning, Buffy went to Spike’s room to tell him about the plan, which they had decided to carry out that night. Unlocking the door, she was surprised to find the living room and kitchen area empty. Hesitantly she approached the bedroom door, her heart suddenly racing. There was no sound from inside, so perhaps he was sleeping.  
  
Awkwardly, she lightly knocked on the door.  
  
There was silence for a long moment before she heard his voice, a question in his words, “Come in?”  
  
She smiled grimly, sympathetically. Probably no one ever *knocked* on his door here. She never had herself in the past, but suddenly she determined that she would in the future, when this was all over.  
  
*Hey,* she reminded herself. *When this is all over you won’t have any reason to knock on his door at all!*  
  
Steeling herself for her body’s usual rebellion against her good sense at the sight of Spike – probably half-dressed as usual or – or if he was sleeping, maybe even – oh, God…  
  
She started to turn away, but the door was opening, and *Oh, no, don’t let him be…*  
  
Spike stood before her in his usual lack of attire, impossibly form-fitting black jeans and nothing else. She was surprised to see that he was even barefoot. But the thoughts racing through her mind of his rock-hard abs were momentarily drowned out by the shock at the sight of his face and stomach.  
  
His lip was split, and there was a massive bruise on the left side of his face from Riley’s nightstick. But the worst of it was the purplish-black bruising across his torso, indication of several cracked ribs.  
  
“What happened?” she asked sharply, surprising both of them with the venom in her tone, for once not directed at him.  
  
“Not as much as would have happened if you hadn’t taken that bloody laptop, love,” he shrugged, turning away to painfully lower himself back onto his bed.  
  
She glanced around at the wreckage that had been his bedroom. “They searched your room?” she asked unnecessarily.  
  
He nodded, his intense gaze drawing her further into the room. He was lying back now on the bed, watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. “So…can I…help you with something, Slayer?” he finally said, a slow suggestive smile turning the corners of his mouth up.  
  
Buffy startled at the slow, husky seduction in his voice. “No!” she hastily answered, then stammered, “Um…yes…um…we’ve got a plan.” She cringed inwardly at how weak and flustered her voice ended up coming out. Here he was all bruised and beaten up and exhausted, and *still* he managed to somehow make her heart race and her insides quake with desire for him.  
  
It made her angry.  
  
He loved that it made her angry.  
  
“Tell me all about it, love,” he invited, patting a spot on the bed beside him, indicating for her to take a seat, that predatory smile never leaving his lips.  
  
In spite of her better judgment screaming at her not to do it, she went and sat down beside him. As she outlined the plan for him, he held her gaze the entire time, and she found herself distracted by the intense blue of his eyes.  
  
“Sounds like it just might work,” he said softly, looking away thoughtfully for a moment, considering the plan.  
  
When he looked back up at her, the hint of a smirk was back, and his tone was low and enticing as he said, “I’m going to have to think of a way to thank you, love.” As he spoke his eyes trailed up and down her body suggestively, and she felt herself blushing.  
  
“Can you think of any way that I could show you my appreciation, Slayer?” he went on, his voice a sweet seduction, his fingers gently tracing up her arm to her shoulder, his eyes once more focused intently on hers, his perfect lips slightly parted in a false innocence that was so, so tempting…  
  
This time she knew for sure, he *was* coming on to her…and…and she could not manage to work up any sense of indignation.  
  
She wanted him…God, she wanted him!  
  
She found herself leaning slightly closer to him, her own lips parted as she struggled to find words. Suddenly, his hand had moved, was no longer touching her, and she almost whimpered at the loss of his touch. His seductive smirk became a full smile as he said in that brighter voice he had used last time, “Let me know, love. I need to get a bit of rest now; not feeling so well, you know. You know your way out.” And with that he turned his back to her, settling in to sleep.  
  
Her mouth opened and closed again several times as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. Without a word she got up and headed out toward the door. The more she thought about it, trying to work it out in her head, the more her frustration built in her, until it was very rapidly building into fury.  
  
*How dare he! How dare he just play with me like that, make me want him, make me feel something for him, just to…to…DO that!* Fuming she stalked down the hallway. *Like it’s just a game! Like he just thinks it’s funny to see how far he can make me go…*  
  
Suddenly, determination washing over her, she stopped short in the hallway. No. She was not going to let it end there. A calculating smile slowly crept over her face as she turned on her heel and headed back toward his suite. She was going to teach that cocky, over-confident, so-too-sexy vampire a lesson he would not soon forget.  
  
*He may have years of experience on me,* she thought. *He may have invented the game…but I’m gonna show him how it’s played!*


	16. Chapter 16

Perplexed, Spike lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He had never felt so satisfied and so – so – well, *not* satisfied – at the same time before. This little game with the Slayer was fun; he loved the fact that with just a look and a few words he could make her squirm.   
  
But he was beginning to have the sneaking suspicion that maybe, just maybe, he was getting a little *too* into the game. That last time when she had leaned toward him, her full perfect lips moist, her eyes shining with desire, he had actually almost forgotten the game and actually allowed that kiss to happen.  
  
The Slayer had left the bedroom door open when she left, and he clearly heard the sound of the main door to his suite being opened again. So she was back for more, was she? he thought with a smug smile to himself, and a vague sense of…relief? No! Surely not.  
  
*Stay. In. Control,* he reminded himself firmly, preparing himself for her entrance.  
  
Except that he was in no way prepared.  
  
In a matter of moments the Slayer was through the doorway. He knew in an instant that this was not the same flustered, blushing girl who had just left mere moments ago. A predatory smile played about her lips, and there was a feral gleam in her dark green eyes, which never left his as she pointedly, deliberately, closed and locked the bedroom door behind her.  
  
His eyes widened in surprise, and he swallowed hard, forcing the forgotten smirk back to his face. So the Slayer was onto the game, then. All right. He could deal with this. Just had to change the rules a bit.  
  
“Are you sure you can take any more, Slayer?” he asked in a mockingly suggestive tone as she began her slow advance toward his bed.  
  
“I think the question is, Spike,” she said, her voice low and sultry as she slowly sauntered toward him. “How much can *you* take?”  
  
*Bloody hell.* Where had *this* version of the Slayer come from?  
  
When she reached him, she braced one hand on the headboard as she leaned down so that her face was a bare foot or so from his, giving him an excellent view straight down the front of her white button-down blouse.  
  
He quickly, almost instinctively forced himself to avert his eyes, simply for the sake of self-preservation. If the Slayer caught him looking she would most likely break his nose for about the thousandth time. But when he raised his eyes to meet hers, the look she gave him was teasingly reproving. She *had* caught him looking, but instead of flying into an indignant Slayer-rage, she simply cast an appreciative, can’t-really-blame-you sort of glance down at herself, before meeting his eyes again with seduction in her own.  
  
“I’ve been thinking,” she said softly, “about how you can thank me.”  
  
*Oh, God.* His mouth went dry; he could already feel his body beginning to respond to her advances, wanting her, the temptation set before him almost overwhelming. Although he knew that it couldn’t possibly, he would have sworn that his heart was pounding.  
  
“And what…” His voice broke on the word and he quickly composed himself to try again, lower, calmer – he hoped. “And what did you think of, Slayer?”  
  
“I think,” Buffy said slowly, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she braced one knee on the bed to swing the other over him, so that she was straddling his hips. “that after all you’ve done for me lately…risking your life for this plan…finding that information for me…I owe you a favor…that *I* should be thanking *you*,” she concluded, leaning forward so that her lips were mere inches from his mouth by the time she finished.  
  
He realized suddenly that he was breathing hard as he watched, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as this strange, irresistible sex siren took over the Slayer’s body before his eyes.  
  
Placing one hand on the pillow beside his head and trailing the other lightly down his side to his hip, Buffy continued slowly in a low, husky voice, “Now how do you think that I should thank you?” As she spoke she hooked her finger under the low waistband of his jeans and moved it just slightly inward from his hip.  
  
*Bloody hell!* he thought desperately. If his body was wanting her before, now it was begging for her. He struggled to control his need, but it was no use. Another two seconds and the Slayer would know beyond all doubt that she was getting to him. He tried to sit up, knowing only one thing: he had to *get her off him, now*!  
  
But when he tried to push up against her, she just pushed him back down, and all he got for his resistance was a slight pain in his head from his chip. Only a slight one. He was not really resisting all that hard.  
  
Still, he let the wince show in his face, thinking that it might give her pause, might get the sex kitten the Slayer had turned into to back off a little, just long enough for him to regain control.  
  
It didn’t. The Slayer merely smiled, mercilessly brushing her taut lower body up across the growing evidence that he was not in *that* much pain, as she leaned forward to whisper, so close that her lips brushed against his ear, “Any ideas?”  
  
Words failed him as she punctuated her question with another slow downward movement as she leaned back. A gasp of desire escaped his lips as he reached out his hands for her.  
  
Smoothly, expertly, she caught his wrists and pulled them up to hold them with one hand over his head. “No,” she whispered sharply, then softened her tone as she added, “I’m supposed to thank *you*…remember?” Still pinning his wrists, she leaned back up to whisper again, “What do you want me to do?” Down again.  
  
Oh bloody hell, she was killing him! He couldn’t even think to form words to tell her any of the many options running through his mind at that moment. Options! At any other time the suggestions he wanted to make would surely have gotten him staked…and *now* they were options.  
  
That alone should have made him think.  
  
But he was past thinking.  
  
Suddenly, the Slayer smiled…a smug, cheerful smile. Her tone all at once vastly different, she said brightly, “Can’t think of anything? Ok. Let me know if you do,” and she was suddenly swinging her leg back over and climbing off him, off the bed.  
  
His mouth dropped open in shock and disbelief. She could *not* be bloody serious! But she was heading toward the door, a triumphant swing to her hips. At the door she stopped, turning slightly to give him a coy smile over her shoulder.  
  
“You should have known that this is a game for two,” she told him, and left without another word.  
  
He lay there in stunned, frustrated silence as he listened to the door closing and locking behind her when she left.  
  
Then he let out a savage animal roar of rage. “That bloody *bitch*!”  
  
Buffy felt smug and satisfied as she stalked down the hallway toward the exit. Well…smug. Not so much with the satisfied, she realized suddenly. She had expected for Spike to respond to her advances; his underlying attraction to her was so obvious, she thought. What she had not expected was her body’s reaction to his reaction.  
  
The open desire, the need in his eyes, as he had gazed up at her; the taut muscles in his arms and chest as he had reached up for her, straining against her restraining hand just to touch her…  
  
She stopped in her tracks.  
  
*No, Buffy. No,* she told herself firmly, warning herself away from what she already knew she was going to do. *Don’t do this to yourself. This is a Big. Mistake.* But even as she thought the words, she found herself turning and heading back down the hall toward the suite.  
  
Spike was up out of the bed and raging, slamming the door to his bedroom as he stalked out into the kitchen. A couple of used mugs sat on the counter where he had left them the night before. With a furious sweep of his arm he sent them crashing to the floor where they shattered loudly.  
  
“I’ll kill her!” he raged. “When this bloody chip goes down I’m gonna use my twenty minutes to rip her soddin’ throat out!” he snarled, his voice quickly approaching a roar. “Bloody little tease! Game for two! I’ll show *her* a *game*!”  
  
The door opened again. It was her.  
  
He could not believe that she had the gall to show up here *again*! Pointing a furious, accusing finger at her, he snarled, “Get out! You bloody bitch!” As he spoke he advanced on her until he was right in her face and practically spat the last word at her.  
  
She could feel her own anger rising at his words and tone, his aggressive stance toward her. But that was not all that those things made her feel.  
  
Slamming the door, she shoved him back a few steps, her eyes blazing. “*I’m* a bitch!” she said incredulously, stalking toward him, backing him toward the wall. “Because I turned your little game around on you!”  
  
“Glad we’re agreed then,” he sneered, still seething with fury. He would have loved to slap that smug expression off her face, to push her back, but the chip prevented it, and his inability only fueled his rage.  
  
Pushing him back again, into the wall, hard, she snapped, “Shut up, Spike. You should never start a game that you can’t finish, and you shouldn’t play if you can’t handle losing!”  
  
“Losing?” He was getting angrier by the moment, his blue eyes shooting flames of fury at her. “Oh, I bloody well haven’t lost yet, Slayer! If you think that I’ve…”  
  
His words were cut off in an instant as she silenced him with her mouth suddenly on his, urgently pressing, her tongue edging past her lips to seek entrance, which was swiftly granted as she pushed him back against the wall again.  
  
Suddenly he broke away from the kiss, eyes wide with shock. Though he was breathing hard with desire and arousal, those eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If this is just another part of the bloody game, Slayer, I swear, I’m gonna…”  
  
“Shut up,” she whispered, her lips finding his again with a desperate intensity as her hands slid from his shoulders down his body to rest on his hips.  
  
His own hands were moving up and down her arms as he returned the kiss in spite of himself, before he suddenly realized what he was doing. Opening his eyes and pulling away again with an effort, he said, between gasps for unnecessary breath, “I mean it, Slayer, if this is about winning the soddin’ game…”  
  
“Screw the game,” she gasped harshly, her hand rising to grip the back of his head, her eyes wide and glazed with need as they met his. “You win, ok? So just shut up.” And with that she claimed his mouth again with her own, pulling his body to hers.  
  
Satisfied, he gave in to his own desire. Still kissing hungrily, as if they were trying to literally devour each other, they stumbled blindly toward his bedroom door.


	17. Chapter 17

In a tangle of arms and bodies, they staggered toward the bed, until the backs of Spike’s knees hit it, and he fell back onto the bed, pulling Buffy down on top of him as she did. His hands moved blindly over her body as his lips, tongue, teeth ravaged her mouth. Almost by instinct he moved to reverse their positions, to roll over on top of her.  
  
But soft, firm hands pressed him back down onto the mattress, not allowing it, and a warning buzz from his chip kept him from resisting. Buffy pulled back from the kiss, shaking her head slightly in a teasing, reproving way, her eyes glittering and lips turning up into a smile with the thrill of her own power.  
  
*Bloody hell!* he thought with a shock of realization. *The little chit can do whatever she bloody well wants and I can’t do a thing about it!* His eyes widened as they met hers, and saw the blatant desire there. *And she bloody loves it – the bloodthirsty little minx!* Then Buffy lowered her mouth to his neck, pressing hot, steaming kisses on his throat as her hand at his hip edged lower and inward to touch him through his jeans.  
  
*And so do I,* he admitted to himself with a moan of pleasure as tiny, sharp teeth nipped gently at the crook of his neck.  
  
As her touch became firmer, bolder, he groaned. “God, Slayer!” as he reached one hand down toward hers, or toward his zipper, he really couldn’t tell as they were so near to each other at the moment. Her free hand caught his and pinned it back down to the bed as her not-free hand intensified its efforts, but still did not release him from the tight-to-begin-with, ever-tightening material that now imprisoned him.  
  
His voice came out in a raspy whisper, “Slayer, please, oh God, please!” urging her, begging her on to more. She would not allow him to help her, to touch her at all, and though the surrender of control to her was incredibly erotic, her torturously slow ministrations were driving him over the edge.  
  
She hated that he always called her that – Slayer. Never her name. The word had fallen from his lips in many ways – mocking, menacing, dripping with anger or even hatred – never in raw need and arousal like this. Still, her title seemed so impersonal. She craved more – the intimacy of hearing him call her name in passion.  
  
Between kisses and nips at his throat, moving slowly down to his shoulder, she whispered, “My name…is Buffy…” She paused as her hand tightened slightly on him and he moaned. “Say it,” she ordered in a desperate whisper.  
  
Aroused even further by the demand in her voice, his need increasing with her every touch, every word, he gasped out, “Oh, God, *Buffy*! Buffy, please!”  
  
And suddenly she was riding the edge herself, with the sound of his voice, hoarsely gasping out her name in pure desperate desire, a foreign, enticing intimacy. She clasped his hand in hers on the bed and drew it to her thigh, unspoken permission to touch, guiding it a few inches upward before releasing it to find its own way up her body as her hands fumbled desperately with his zipper.  
  
With a shuddering sigh of mingled pleasure and relief, he brought his other hand up to the small of her back to press her body harder against his.  
  
*Bloody hell. I love winning.*  
  
Nearly an hour later, Buffy reluctantly raised her head from where it rested on Spike’s bare chest to look him in the eye, a question in hers. “So this is the end of all that ‘I want you, no I don’t, I want you, oops, no I don’t’ crap? No more torture?” she demanded, eyes narrowing in a glare at the thought of the way he had taken pleasure in tormenting her.  
  
“Only if you ask me,” he assured her, his voice dropping to that low, sexy rumble as he raised a suggestive eyebrow at her.  
  
“Oh, don’t even start!” she said quickly in mock-horror, pulling herself up and out of his arms, which tried to hold her down with him, to no avail. “I think three in…oh my God…*one hour*…is my personal limit!”  
  
Smiling languidly up at her, watching as she pulled her clothes back on, Spike said softly, “We haven’t come *close* to finding your limit, love.”  
  
Buffy froze, her shirt open and unbuttoned as she faced him, took a step toward the bed, moments from taking it off again and climbing back in with him.  
  
“No,” she said firmly, stepping back again. “I’ve been gone long enough as it is. Cordova’s already gonna want an explanation for where I’ve been.”  
  
“Will you tell her I was very, very bad, and you had to punish me?” His voice was a mixture of teasing and seduction.  
  
“God, Spike, *stop*!” Buffy insisted. “If you don’t cut it out, I’m gonna end up right back in that bed, and I *need* to go!”  
  
He smiled. “*What’s* my motivation for stopping exactly?” he asked.  
  
She went to his side and took his head in her hands, drawing him in for another kiss. Then she looked deep into his eyes and said softly, “I really, *really* have to go.”  
  
He sighed. “All right. So the plan goes down tonight, then?” Concern replaced the desire in his eyes.  
  
“Yes. Here.” She tossed him something from her pocket, and he caught it in his hand. A cell phone.  
  
“What’s this?” he asked, frowning.  
  
“I’ll call you when the chips go down. That way you’ll know when to do it,” she explained.  
  
He nodded as she headed for the door. “See you tonight then, love.”  
  
The afternoon and evening crawled by, with nothing to do but wait for midnight. Spike could feel tension rising in him; every moment brought them closer to Diana’s release from the hell he had birthed her into.  
  
He was no fool; he knew that the next morning there would be consequences for their actions tonight, and he would be the one to face the general’s wrath. But Buffy was right; she wouldn’t kill him; she needed him. And whatever else she might do – well, he would recover. It was worth any cost to get Diana out of this place.  
  
Hours later, he was surprised when the door to his suite opened. With a wave of hatred and apprehension running through him, he saw that it was Lieutenant Finn. The look in Finn’s eyes sent a chill through him, but he covered it well.  
  
“So back to search for nothing again, are we?” he taunted the soldier, because he was physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut around Riley Finn.  
  
“Not quite, hostile,” Finn sneered, a cruel gleam in his eye. There was a blur of movement behind Finn, and glancing over his shoulder, Spike watched with dismay as another soldier dragged Diana into the room.  
  
This could not possibly be good.  
  
“I think it’s high time you learned just who’s in control around here,” Riley said coldly as the soldier dragged Diana past them into the bedroom.  
  
“What is he doing?” Spike demanded, stalking after the soldier into the bedroom. Remarkably, Riley stepped out of the way to let him, then followed him into the bedroom.   
  
The soldier was binding Diana’s wrists to the bedpost. Spike moved forward to stop him, but before he could move more than a step, Riley had struck him hard in the backs of his knees with something sharp and stinging, and he dropped to the floor. Turning to see what he had been hit with, he saw that it was a leather riding crop.  
  
He tried to rise, but Riley’s heavy hand on his shoulder held him down. “Now come on, Hostile 17. You don’t want me to use this on your girl, instead, do ya?” he said in a soft, chillingly pleasant tone. Instantly Spike’s struggling ceased.  
  
Turning to see what the soldier was doing, Riley said, “That won’t be necessary. Untie her.” He dismissed the soldier with a wave of his hand, turning a cruel smile on Diana as he said, “She’s gonna be a good girl…” Without warning he slammed the crop down across Spike’s face, knocking him down and leaving a vicious, bloody welt where the rough ragged leather cut his cheek. “…aren’tcha, Baby?”  
  
Her eyes filled with tears as she whispered, shaking her head slightly, “Please! Please don’t! I’ll do anything!” Her sorrowful eyes fell on her sire’s battered, bleeding face as she whispered again, “Please.”  
  
Spike was struggling to get back to his knees, dizzy from the force of the blow, and the intense fiery pain in his face. Riley shook his head reprovingly, but he was smiling in pure pleasure as he said, “Now, Diana, did I say you could talk?” And he brought the crop down again, across Spike’s shoulders this time, and then again across his face.  
  
Diana looked away, tears spilling down her cheeks, but silent, as Riley dragged her dazed sire across the room to the corner, where a large heating pipe ran the length of the wall, continuing through both the floor and ceiling into the rooms above and below Spike’s room.  
  
Testing its strength with his hand, Riley found it to be satisfactory and took out a pair of the specially made, super-strong handcuffs used by the Initiative. Once he had secured Spike’s wrists around the pipe, behind his back, he gripped his hair and yanked his head back, smiling as he said, “Now listen carefully, Hostile 17. These are the rules of the game.” Without warning he punched him brutally in the face, the pain compounded by the impact of Riley’s fist against the bleeding wounds from the crop. “*I* make all the rules!” Riley sneered.  
  
“Diana is *mine*, and I will do whatever I want with her, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it! And I’m gonna prove it…and you’re gonna watch.” His voice was calm and cold. “You say a word about it, or I catch you looking away,” he held up the crop, “and *she’s* gonna get it. Are we clear?” His voice was chillingly calm, his smile cruel.  
  
Spike’s eyes blazed with pure hatred as he glared at Riley. He knew what was required of him but could not bring himself to agree with the horrific “rules” of Finn’s twisted little “game”.  
  
Riley shrugged and went to the bed, striking out at Diana, landing several sharp, stinging blows across her bare legs. She cried out in pain, but did not even dare to try and pull away.  
  
“Stop!” Spike cried. “You sick, demented wanker! Leave her alone!” He was desperate to get to her, to help her, but the cuffs and the pipe held firm.  
  
Not even looking at his victim, smiling triumphantly into Spike’s eyes, Riley punctuated his next words with two more brutal blows to Diana’s bleeding legs. “Shut. Up.”  
  
Spike obeyed, shaking with fury and fear for his childe.  
  
“Good. I think you finally understand the way this works,” Riley said, then turned to face Diana. “And you, Baby, you’re gonna do as I say too, be a good girl, no fighting, no trying to get away – or *he’s* gonna get it. Everybody clear?”  
  
Diana nodded fearfully; Spike helplessly did the same.  
  
“By the time this night is over,” Riley vowed, “you’re both gonna know beyond all doubt that I *own* you!”  
  
Spike glanced up at the clock on the wall with desperate eyes.  
  
It was only nine o’clock.  
  
By ten o’clock, if there had been any doubt, they both knew that Riley Finn was a sadistic, sick, power-hungry monster. The things he had forced Diana to do, to allow to be done to her, turned Spike’s stomach. Once or twice he couldn’t bear it and looked away, but the sound of the crop snapping down on Diana’s naked body and her terrified screams of pain drew his eyes instantly back.  
  
When the soldier had spent himself, at least for the moment, he decided to pass the time by taking the crop to Spike. The vampire master managed not to utter a sound as the burly soldier brought the weapon down on his already-battered body again and again. He did not want to give Diana any more to worry about, or Finn the satisfaction of hearing the screams that he gave place to only in his mind.  
  
Due to his steady diet of experimental drugs, Finn had a powerful arm, and did not hold back, venting all of his rage and hatred toward the cocky vampire and his absolute refusal to ever acknowledge Finn with any sort of respect.  
  
Even now, he refused to do what he knew the lieutenant wanted. He wanted to hear him scream, beg, curse, anything that would in some small way acknowledge Finn’s power over him – but Spike did not make a sound. Even when he became so weak from pain and loss of blood that he slumped to his knees on the floor, he kept his silence.  
  
Spike was disgusted by the knowledge that working him over with the riding crop seemed to prepare Finn to return to Diana. And though he felt like he would pass out any second, he was once again forced to watch as Finn cruelly violated her again.  
  
It went on in that fashion for so long, the vicious soldier alternating between his two victims, using each to prove his point to the other. And the point he was making to each was the same: Spike was powerless to protect Diana against him.  
  
As the horrific night wore on, Spike was relieved to see that Diana remained relatively uninjured, at least physically. Finn did not seem to want to scar up his favorite toy. Therefore the most violent of his actions that night seemed to be reserved for Spike.  
  
After the last vicious beating, Finn returned to Diana, who suddenly dropped to her knees before her master, her eyes dry – no tears left by this point – but still beseeching him desperately. Spike felt an almost physical pain to see how battered and exhausted she was – how utterly broken.  
  
“Please,” she whispered. “Master – please…” Her voice failed her; she could say no more.  
  
Finn smiled viciously as he stalked over to Spike and dealt him another cruel blow in the face. Then, confident that his point was made and she would cooperate, he returned to Diana, grabbed her and slammed her down onto the bed.  
  
Spike glanced up at the clock again…11:57.  
  
He watched carefully as Diana, her spirit unable to bear any more, no matter what threat Finn used, instinctively struggled against him, though weakly. He watched as her expression changed slightly, a strange wonder in her eyes. He knew what it meant; she was surprised that her struggles against her tormentor had caused her no pain.  
  
In the next moment, he heard the faint sound of a cell phone ringing in the next room – the “Mission: Impossible” theme, he noted with faint amusement. *The Slayer thinks she’s so clever!*  
  
Finn got up from the bed, turning toward the sound, listening. “What is that?” he wondered aloud.  
  
“It’s time,” the vampire rasped from where he knelt in the corner, his head down.  
  
“What?” Riley snapped, whirling to stride quickly toward him, crop raised menacingly. “Time for what?”  
  
The vampire did not respond, did not move, his head still bowed.  
  
“Time for what?” Riley repeated, his voice threatening as he advanced.  
  
The vampire slowly raised his head, and the lieutenant was chilled by the malicious smile on his face. His attention riveted by the cold light in the ice-blue eyes, the soldier did not notice as the vampire’s childe rose silently from the bed of her defilement, with murderous vengeance in her eyes.  
  
In a low, hypnotic voice, the vampire met the soldier’s eyes and answered his question.  
  
“Time to die.”


	18. Chapter 18

Fear and rage mingled in Riley Finn’s eyes at the threat in the vampire’s eyes. Even chained and beaten to his knees, Spike still had the capability to strike fear into Riley’s heart – and that infuriated him. He took a couple of steps closer to the bound vampire, raising the crop to strike.  
  
Suddenly the weapon was wrenched from his grasp from behind him and hurled against the wall on the other side of the room. Riley whirled around to see Diana – as he had never seen her before. The chip had not permitted Diana to go into her natural vampiric face. But the chip was no longer in control of her.  
  
And neither was Riley Finn.  
  
The inhuman hatred and rage in her eyes sent chills through the soldier’s heart as she stepped slowly around him, a predatory grace in her movements – stalking him, preparing to move in for the kill.  
  
“Diana,” he said softly. “Calm down.” He had no idea what had caused the chip to malfunction, only that it *had* indeed malfunctioned, and he was going to have to be very careful if he was going to get out of this room alive.  
  
His soft order seemed to incense the vampiress further; her only response was a menacing snarl as she took a couple of slow, measured steps toward him. Quickly he took out the knife he kept in his back pocket, holding it out defensively in front of him, attempting to warn her back.  
  
And then she laughed.  
  
A blood-freezing, sickening sound of cruel mockery, indicating just what she thought of his pathetic attempt at self-defense. He felt his hope fading with the knowledge that unchipped, this little vampire whom he had freely victimized for months was far more powerful than he was. Even with the experimental drugs that had increased his natural strength, it still did not compare to the super-human strength of a vampire. Hence the need for the chip.  
  
The broken chip. The chip which was not functioning.  
  
As if suddenly remembering this herself, Diana launched herself at the lieutenant, knocking him to the floor on his back and driving her fangs into his throat. He tried to push her off, fight her off, but she was too strong for him and held him pinned to the floor. But she drew back after a moment, frowning with irritation.  
  
Diana had never bitten a human before. She had missed the vein. She tried again, and the fallen soldier howled in agony, writhing uselessly beneath her.  
  
“Don’t let him scream like that,” Spike suddenly told her, softly, and she looked up at her sire, startled, as if just remembering his presence in the room. “He’ll bring the troops down on us,” he finished. But in spite of his correction, his face was full of pride for his childe.  
  
Looking for a moment at her still-helpless sire, Diana then returned her attention to the man beneath her on the floor. “The key,” she said softly, menacingly.  
  
Riley shook his head emphatically. “Are you out of your mind?” he snarled. “You think I’m gonna have you *both* to deal with?”  
  
“Yes,” Diana continued softly, chillingly. “I do.” Then she lowered her fangs to his throat in a shallow bite, and dragged them viciously through his flesh down toward his collarbone.  
  
Riley tried to scream in pain, but Diana had heeded her sire’s advice, and her hand was firmly over his mouth. Removing her fangs, lapping casually at the blood flowing freely from the gaping wound, she returned her eyes to Riley’s, smiling. “The key,” she repeated.  
  
Weakly Riley reached into his pocket and held it out to her. Rising from her victim, Diana went to her sire, losing him and helping him to his feet, then leading him back with her to stand over Lieutenant Finn, struggling weakly in an attempt to rise.  
  
Feeling better already with this turn of events, Spike smirked, “Let me help you with that,” and hauled the soldier to his feet, slamming him against the wall hard. He smiled coolly at Finn as he spoke to Diana, “What do you want to do with him, love?”  
  
Her eyes blazing with fury and bloodlust, yearning to tear into her tormentor again, Diana reluctantly asked, “How much time do we have?”  
  
Spike’s smile widened. “Well, the way I figure it, love,” he said. “We’ve got a bit. The Slayer said we’d have twenty minutes from whenever they figured out the chips were down. Now, judging by the lack of screaming alarms and running soldiers in the halls, I’d guess that no one knows about the technical difficulties yet. With the exception of the good lieutenant here.” He leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing in menace, “And he’s not going to be telling.”  
  
Diana slowly smiled as his words sank in. “So we don’t have to leave just yet.”  
  
Spike thought about it. He wouldn’t let his childe take *too* long to wreak her vengeance. The Slayer would be a bit concerned when they took a little longer than expected to get there. But if he knew her, she would wait for them. And it wouldn’t hurt her to worry about him a bit, he thought smugly. He had pressing business to attend to. Long overdue payback to make.  
  
Spike’s attention was suddenly drawn to Diana, as he noticed that she was looking closely at his face, her eyes sad. She reached a gentle hand up to lightly trace an ugly red gash made by Finn’s crop. As her eyes turned slowly to Finn, the tenderness faded to a vengeful rage as she raked her fangs savagely across his face, tearing a bloody streak across it to match the one he had left on her sire.  
  
Finn’s scream was muffled again, by Spike’s hand this time. Smiling grimly at Diana, he tossed the weakened excuse for a man onto the bed and said, “Go ahead and have your fun, pet. I’ll let you know when we have to go.”  
  
Twenty minutes later, the bed, the floor and Diana were soaked in the blood of Riley Finn. Diana had done her best to repay him for the months of abuse she had endured at his hand, and Spike found himself somewhat in awe of the macabre talent displayed by his childe. When Riley was too far gone to even react anymore, both vampires took their fill of his blood.  
  
Suddenly, Spike heard the slam of the door opening and rushing footstep in the suite. He prepared himself to attack, before he heard a familiar voice, urgent and fearful.  
  
“Spike?”  
  
The Slayer, he realized with relief.  
  
Suddenly, his eyes widened and he gulped. *The Slayer!* Uh-oh.  
  
Buffy appeared in the doorway, her eyes softening in relief when she saw Spike. “There you are! What’s going on? Why aren’t you…” Her words cut off suddenly when she looked away from him and her eyes fell on the rest of the scene before her.  
  
The room was deathly still. Spike watched anxiously the parade of emotions that made its way across her face… shock, horror, disbelief, sorrow, anger, disgust…he wished that he knew exactly who and what each of those emotions was aimed at. Then her eyes met his, and he wished to not know again.  
  
At that moment the alarms went off.   
  
Tear-filled eyes glaring at him, Buffy said shortly in a trembling voice, low with anger, “Let’s go.” She reached for Diana’s arm, visibly recoiling a bit at her bloodstained face and body.  
  
Diana pulled away instinctively with a snarl. Impatient, furious, still trembling with shock and an odd sense of betrayal, Buffy snatched her arm, pulling the girl back with a force to match the vampire’s strength. “Do you know what a Slayer is, Diana?” she snarled.  
  
“Buffy,” Spike hurried forward to pull her away from his childe, sensing the danger in this situation.   
  
She threw his arm off her roughly, and he staggered back a step or two. Turning her furious eyes on him she said in a low, dangerous voice, “*Don’t*.”  
  
He stood back, not daring to approach her in this frame of mind. He knew the shock the scene must have been for her. After all, though she had a vague idea of what Riley had been doing to Diana, she had never seen it firsthand. All she *had* seen for herself was the bloody, ravaged mess Spike and Diana had made of her ex-boyfriend. And that was what was controlling her emotions at the moment. Spike was very much aware that the wrong word or move at this moment could get him and Diana both dusted.  
  
“Buffy,” he said softly, making his voice calming. “Let me take her. I know the way. She trusts me.”  
  
Wordlessly Buffy released Diana with a disgusted half-shove away from her, and stalked past them out into the hallway, where she broke into a run. Quickly the vampires followed her, aware of the faint, far-off sound of men shouting and pounding footsteps.   
  
The Initiative had awakened.  
  
They struggled to keep pace with the furious Slayer as she impatiently led them at a run to the rear entrance, where the van was waiting for them.  
  
Catching up to her, gasping, Spike tried again, “Slayer! *Buffy*!” as he managed to catch her arm.  
  
She stopped for a moment, turning on him. “I said *don’t*, Spike!” she snapped. “Don’t explain, don’t even talk to me, don’t *freaking* touch me!” And she jerked her arm away from him, turning to continue down the hall.  
  
He followed, a worried frown on his face. This was not turning out so well. Buffy finally led them out into the night, and they saw the van in front of them. Not a moment too soon – it had been fifteen minutes already since the alarm had sounded.  
  
Opening the back door to the van, Buffy stepped aside to allow Diana to get in. Spike helped her, trying to calm her. She had already been nervous, and now the prospect of leaving him had her terrified.  
  
“I’ll be all right, love,” he lied. “Go on now. You’ll be safe.” He cast the Slayer a glare that demanded that she not make him a liar in those words.  
  
The Slayer was glaring right back with a greater intensity of fury as she spoke again, her voice full of barely controlled rage.  
  
“Get in.”  
  
“What?” Spike was confused – and not a little frightened.  
  
“Get in the van,” she clarified her order.  
  
“Why?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his eyes. Judging by her mood, her intense anger at what they had done, he could easily see her taking him back to her house with her, just to beat the crap out of him herself for what he had done. In another five minutes his chip would be fully functional again.  
  
With a muffled roar of fury, the Slayer advanced on him until she was right in his face, looking him in the eye as she snarled, “You can’t stay here, ok? Not with what you – what they’re gonna find…” She couldn’t finish, but he finally understood.  
  
In spite of her anger, she was scared for him. She knew that when the desecrated body of Lieutenant Finn was found in his room, there would be nothing for him but cruel torture and death.  
  
Her voice little more than a whisper of absolute fury, she ordered again, “Get. In the freaking. Van. Spike.”  
  
The sound of the approaching soldiers grew louder; there was no longer any option. Wordlessly he obeyed, leaping into the back to sit by his now weeping, trembling childe, as the Slayer jumped in the side door and the van roared away into the night.


	19. Chapter 19

As he was dragged helplessly down the basement stairs by the determined Slayer, Spike tried to think of the words to salvage this situation before he ended up dust.  
  
“Now look, Slayer,” he began, speaking rapidly. “You walked in on the tail end of that little scene, and there was an awful lot you missed! You’ve no idea what that filthy wanker did to Diana in that room before sh – we – did what we did.” He corrected himself at the last second.   
  
Diana had really been the one to actually kill Riley, but it would not do to let the Slayer know that. Though her emotional connection to him was precarious at best at the moment, she had none whatsoever to Diana, and he could easily see her thinking the easiest solution to be simply staking his childe, leaving her new lover free and clear.  
  
They had reached the bottom of the stairs and his words were cut off as Buffy released him suddenly, slinging him back against the wall, hard, advancing quickly to stand right in his face, giving him no room to move away. “I don’t care what he did, no one deserves to die like *that*!” she spat the words out at him, glaring into his sapphire eyes with her own blazing green ones.  
  
Hearing the Slayer defending Finn, after the night of horror he and his childe had spent at the hands of the sadistic monster, infuriated Spike. “Really,” he snarled. “Well let’s hear you say that if it was *you* he took, *murdered* and turned, and then raped and tortured *every night* for eight soddin’ months, with you helpless to so much as push the bloody sadist away from you! See what *you’d* do if you could suddenly fight back!”  
  
Buffy was silent for a moment, taking in his words, before she edged even closer and replied coldly, eyes narrowed in fury, “I’m not blaming *her*, Spike.”  
  
“So it’s all *my* fault, then, is it?” His eyes widened with the realization, and he was surprised at how much it actually hurt.   
  
Buffy shrugged casually, but her eyes were full of rage. “You’re her sire, right? I don’t know that much about vampire relationships and all that, but I know that she sure listens to everything you say. You could have stopped her, Spike.”  
  
A furious expression to match hers coming over his face, he threw back, “All right, then. Different scenario. What if it wasn’t you? What if it was Dawn? Or your mum? What would you do to the monster that did that to them? What would you do then, Slayer?” His tone was an accusation and a demand.  
  
The words were like a blow to her, and she could not help but at least partially see his point. If someone did that to Dawn or her mother, she would track them down, to the ends of the earth, and make them pay for it.  
  
Still, she shook her head, looking away from him for a moment, taking a step back. “Not like that,” she insisted. “Not – not torn to pieces like that…”  
  
“And how else would you suggest then?” he asked, his voice softer now. “Not exactly like we had a wide range of weapons at our disposal, is it, Slayer? Diana’s only defenses are the ones *they* gave her when they turned her.”  
  
“You keep saying that,” she said, looking back at him with a hard expression. “As I recall it was *you* that turned her.”  
  
“Because they made me!” He nearly exploded; she was being so bloody unreasonable!  
  
“Oh, and you hated every moment didn’t you?” she snarled back sarcastically, and he could see the loathing in her eyes, the disgust for not only what he had done, but what he *was*.  
  
And suddenly he understood.  
  
“Oh, so this isn’t just about what happened to Finn, is it, love?” he said, realization dawning in his eyes. “You’re facing up to just exactly what it is *you’ve* done…being with me. Well, newsflash, pet! I’m a bloody *vampire*! Okay? Never gonna be anything else until I’m dust!” He paused, realizing that the mention of dusting was probably not wise at this moment. No good to remind her of the ideas she was probably already seriously considering.  
  
The flash of fury in her eyes showed him that his comment had hit home at least a little. “This is *not* about you and me, Spike! This is about Riley and what happened to him in that room!”  
  
“What about what happened to *Diana* in that room?” he demanded, his voice trembling slightly as his own anger rose. “Have you even stopped to consider what she was even *doing* there? What she and your dear sainted Captain Wanker were even *doing* in *my* suite at bloody midnight, Slayer? No, you were too busy climbing on your moral high horse to even listen to a bloody explanation!”  
  
Buffy was silent, and a little of the anger left her eyes, replaced by uncertainty. After a long moment, holding his gaze with a determined air, as if preparing herself for the worst, she said quietly, “Why were they there, Spike? Tell me. Explain.”  
  
An immense sense of relief filling him, he took a deep breath, then released it slowly. He paused, choosing his words carefully, before he responded. “The good lieutenant decided that Diana and I were not aware enough of our own bloody helplessness for his liking. Decided to do something about it.” He stopped, not sure how to tell her the rest, suddenly extremely uncomfortable.  
  
“What did he do?” she pressed, her voice soft now, her eyes wide and almost panicked. She instinctively knew that what she was about to hear would not be easy.  
  
Spike struggled with the words, looking away, not meeting her eyes, as he went on. “He hurt her. Raped her. Again and again. Every way you can imagine, and a few you probably can’t. All night.”  
  
The thought of Riley doing those things sickened her again, as it had the first time she had heard it. She wanted to flee, escape up the stairs, so she wouldn’t have to face the reality of the situation – of who the monster of this particular tale really was. But there was still more that she had to know.  
  
“Why in your room?” she asked, her voice expressionless, her eyes still on his face.  
  
Spike swallowed hard, his head lowered a bit. His voice was quieter when he finally replied, “Wanted me to see it. To know…to know there was nothing I could do about it.”   
  
The anguish, the misplaced guilt in his voice, not over killing Riley, but over allowing Diana to be hurt, tore at her heart. At that moment she found herself wanting to comfort him. She forced herself to remember the image seared in her mind of Riley’s torn, bloodied body in Spike’s suite. And at the edges of the memory, a small detail emerged. Her eyes widened in horrified realization.  
  
“The handcuffs,” she whispered. She recalled seeing them, lying discarded on the floor near Riley’s body. At the time it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder why they were there. “He chained you up and made you watch.” There was a rising horror in her eyes at the realization of just how far Riley’s cruelty had gone.  
  
Spike nodded silently, his eyes on the floor.  
  
Buffy’s eyes welled with tears at the thought of what he and his childe had gone through – and at the hands of a man she had once cared for, if not really loved. Though she felt like she had heard all she could stand to, there was still more that she needed to know.   
  
“And this?” she said, reaching to gently touch the mark on his face. He flinched away, uncomfortable with her touch. “Diana has them too. What did he do?”  
  
“Riding crop,” he answered simply. “Clever one, he was,” he went on with a bitter smile. “Knew the best way to get her to cooperate was to threaten me…and vice versa. If one of us didn’t do as he said, he’d…he’d hit the other.” His voice was halting, and Buffy knew that the memory was painful. In spite of everything, at that moment all she wanted was to reach out to him.  
  
She reached gently toward his face again, seeking his eyes. “Looks like you were a little more cooperative than she was,” she said softly, her voice low and grim, and for a moment Spike thought that Riley might actually have been lucky to have died by *Diana’s* hand and not Buffy’s. “She wasn’t hurt nearly this bad.”  
  
Spike shrugged. “Not her fault. She did as he told her…like she always does…did,” he corrected himself, allowing himself a small smile of hard satisfaction. His childe would never be abused by Riley Finn again. “No, this,” he gestured toward his wounds with an upward wave of his hand. “This was personal. Thought he’d take the opportunity to work out a bit of his pent up aggressions.”  
  
Buffy swallowed hard, fighting down the feelings of rage toward Riley that were rising in her. It was not right that she should feel this way, she thought. How had Spike managed to do that to her? To turn her feelings around? Riley had been brutally murdered by the two vampires. She was the vampire *slayer*. Shouldn’t her anger be directed at Spike and Diana?  
  
But she thought of all he had just told her, and knew in her heart that she could not honestly say what she would have done if in his position, or Diana’s for that matter. She knew that her actions would have been governed not by her sense of right and wrong, but by her emotions.  
  
And Spike and Diana did not really *have* a sense of right and wrong to go by. They were soulless vampires, which meant not having to deal with things like guilt, and right and wrong. That was what she had been taught from the moment she had been chosen. She knew deep down that it was not really fair to expect any different of them. No matter how their actions disgusted her, she should not have expected that they would have done anything differently. If a human in that situation would likely react in violence, how could she expect a vampire to show any greater strength of morality?  
  
“I understand why you did it, Spike,” she said softly, and he looked up at her, startled. He kept his silence, waiting cautiously to hear what she would say next. “I can’t even imagine going through what you and Diana went through before you…before it happened. What Riley did to you both was disgusting and inhuman and…and he probably deserved to die for it.” She paused, and he knew that the “but” part of her statement was coming.  
  
“But that doesn’t make it all right,” she said sadly, shaking her head. After another pause, she hesitantly managed to get out, “I trusted you, Spike. I told you how worried I was about the chips going down, about putting people in danger. And you helped me find the way to do it…without anyone getting hurt, remember? That’s how it was supposed to be.”  
  
“But Finn came in there unexpected!” he broke in, frowning, shaking his head. “We couldn’t have done anything about that! We didn’t plan on anyone getting hurt, love.”  
  
“I know.” Buffy’s voice was sad, and unexpectedly gentle. “The truth is…you can’t help it, Spike. It’s just your nature. Put a vampire…any vampire…in a situation like that, and that’s what’s gonna happen. I’m the Slayer. I should have known better.”  
  
He looked up at her sharply, finally meeting her eyes, and the hurt she saw there was painful to her as well. Stepping toward her, putting his hands gently on her arms, he said softly, “I didn’t think I was ‘just any vampire’. Not to you, love.”  
  
Still meeting his gaze, she pulled firmly away from him, taking a step back. “No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “You weren’t. But that was my mistake.”  
  
The words hurt him like a physical blow, and he flinched. “Buffy,” he whispered, not knowing what to say.  
  
She looked away, unable to stand the pain in his eyes. She turned to go upstairs. “Come upstairs and take a shower whenever you’re ready. I’m sure you want to get cleaned up. You’ve been through an awful lot. Let me know if you need anything. There’s blood in the refrigerator and bandages and stuff in the bathroom.” Her voice was compassionate, but still so sad and defeated, and her words effectively closed the subject for discussion. “I’ll bring down some blankets and stuff for you to sleep with in a little while. The three of you will sleep down here.”  
  
He didn’t know what to say, so for once he said nothing, just stood there and watched her go.  
  
She paused halfway up the stairs, turning, facing him but not meeting his eyes as she added, “What happened wasn’t your fault. It was mine. It was a mistake to let the chips be shut down…and it won’t happen again.” She looked him in the eye, her expression sorrowful, but determined, as she finished, “If it does…we both know…I’ll do what I have to do.”  
  
And with that painful promise, she turned and walked away from him.


	20. Chapter 20

“Go!” Buffy ordered, slamming the van door shut behind her, and Xander pulled out of the deserted parking lot before she was even seated, slinging her back against the seat.  
  
“Buffy,” Spike spoke softly from the back of the van.   
  
“Shut up,” Buffy snapped.  
  
Willow turned around in the front seat to look at the passengers they had picked up. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of the blood that covered them. “Um, Buffy?” she said hesitantly, frowning. “What happened back there?”  
  
Buffy did not respond, simply glared straight ahead at the back of Xander’s seat.  
  
“Um, Buffy…please…” Spike tried again; his voice sounded weak.  
  
Whirling around in her seat Buffy fixed a murderous look on him and snarled, “You are about two seconds from getting staked and I am *not* playing around! This had better be damn important!”  
  
“How far is your house from the Initiative?”  
  
Irritated, Buffy replied, “About thirty miles or so, why?”  
  
Spike swallowed hard, his eyes showing some relief, but still uncertain as he answered her, “Good. Um…we…we need to get as far as we can from here as fast as we can because…”  
  
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Xander interrupted.  
  
But Buffy was frowning, “I know, but because why?” she pressed him.  
  
“The manual control for my chip…it has a twenty mile radius…when the chips go back up…”  
  
In spite of her anger Buffy was struck with fear for the vampire. Cordova probably already knew that Riley had been killed and Spike and his childe had escaped, and she was *not* going to be pleased.  
  
Turning back to Willow she asked anxiously, “How much time do we have before…”  
  
Her words broke off as a moan of pain came from the backseat. She looked around to see Spike doubled over, holding his head in his hands. Her anger momentarily forgotten as a stronger surge from the chip hit him and he gasped for unnecessary breath, falling forward with his face to the floor in the back of the van, Buffy reacted without thinking. “*Drive*, Xander! We need to get as far from the Initiative as possible, now!” she almost shouted, climbing over the seat into the back with the vampires.  
  
Diana struck a defensive posture over her suffering sire, her eyes warning Buffy away. This stranger to her was stronger than either of them, and to all appearances furious with them both. If she meant to hurt Spike, she would have to go through Diana to do it.  
  
That was easy enough. “Back off,” Buffy ordered, shoving the weakened vampiress out of her way. “I’m not gonna hurt him.” As she knelt down beside him and put her arms around his reeling form, pulling him back up to his knees, she muttered resentfully, “Yet.”  
  
“Can she kill you with this thing, Spike?” she asked him, her voice slow and distinct, trying to cut through the agony he was enduring.  
  
He shook his head before resting it on her arm in front of him. “Just make me…” he gasped out. “…wanna die.”  
  
“Shh,” she whispered, unthinkingly smoothing his disheveled, blood-matted hair back from his face. In spite of her anger with him, she could still not be anything but gentle with him in the face of his intense suffering. “Just hold on, we’ll be out of range soon.” She turned to call to the front, “How far have we gone?”  
  
Glancing at the odometer, Xander called back, “Ten miles, maybe?”  
  
Another vicious spasm of pain gripped Spike at that moment, and he clutched at her arm, gasping. And because she could do nothing else, she sat down on the floor of the van and held him, her arms around him, crooning soothing nothings into his ear.  
  
The pain had never been this absolutely excruciating, this intense, before. Never. Not even when he had attacked the soldier who was beating Diana. Nothing he had ever experienced compared in any way to the long-distance punishment Cordova was subjecting him to. All he could do was cling desperately to the soft arms supporting him and wait, wait for it to finally pass. Some distant part of his pain-wracked consciousness was aware enough to be surprised that the Slayer was sitting here with him, holding him, comforting him through his agony.  
  
After ten minutes or so that felt like an eternity, he felt the pain slowly beginning to ebb. His body shook violently, his muscles impossibly tensed and tight. Even after he knew that the chip had stopped firing, the pain still tore through him with the aftershock effect of the electric current the chip sent out. Gradually, however, it became manageable. He started breathing again.   
  
Buffy still sat there, her arms around him. Slowly, cautiously, he pulled his head up to look her in the eye. “B-buffy…” he began, his voice almost timid, his eyes hopeful.  
  
His heart sank as he literally *saw* the compassion and concern she had not been able to hide hardening into hurt and anger again in her eyes, as soon as she realized that he was going to be okay. She shook her head as she looked away from him, then abruptly unentangled herself from him and climbed back over the seat.  
  
As they pulled into the driveway, Xander said, “And you’re sure they won’t be able to track us here?”  
  
Buffy looked to Spike, a question in her eyes…a purely business sort of question. He could read nothing else there.  
  
He shook his head. “No. The tracking device in my chip only works through the manual control…and we’re out of its range now.”  
  
“Good,” Buffy said, her voice cold as she turned around. “What about the cameras, Will? You’re sure they were down the entire time?”  
  
Willow nodded emphatically. “In fact,” she said, pausing as she scrolled down the screen of her laptop. “They’re just now getting them back up, right….now. So their videos wouldn’t have picked up anything from right before midnight until now.”  
  
Buffy nodded, satisfied, and opened the door.  
  
As she came around the back to open the door and let Spike and Diana out, he was thinking fast. This situation could get very bad for them, very fast, if the Slayer’s little fan club found out about what had happened to Riley. With their outrage to support her, the Slayer might very well decide to stake them, even after all the trouble she had gone to to save them. As he waited for her to open the door, he caught Diana’s eye, and she nodded, understanding. They were going to try to make a run for it.  
  
But the Slayer was ready for them. Spike’s feet had barely even hit the ground when she had him firmly by the arm and shoved him up against the inside of the open door. She smiled a wide, false smile, with a dangerous glint in her eyes, as she said softly, “Don’t even think about it.”  
  
Instinctively he tried to push her back, before remembering that his chip was working again. He winced at the pain caused by the attempt, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw that she looked angrier than before. *Oh, bollocks.* He nodded his submission quickly, saying quietly, “Ok…ok, Buffy…”  
  
Diana, standing a few feet from him, let out a warning growl toward the woman manhandling her sire. Buffy’s grip on Spike’s arm tightened painfully as she went on, “And you better keep Princess Di over there under control. I know she’s chipped, but, ya know, if you wanna hurt someone bad enough…” Her hand tightened again, and Spike winced. “…you’re gonna find a way. So I think we’d all be a lot happier if you’d make sure she knows to back off. We clear?”  
  
He nodded again, his head down, then turned as much as he could toward his childe and said, keeping his voice much calmer and cooler than he actually felt, “It’s ok, pet. Calm down now. You’re upsetting our friend, here.”  
  
Diana looked unsure, but she obeyed her sire as always, and ceased her growling, taking a step back. Buffy had been wise to go for him and not Diana, he thought ruefully. The vampiress would not run as long as she thought he was in any danger.  
  
“There we go,” Buffy’s false smile was back and she moved back a little to allow him to step away from the van, still gripping his arm, but not so painfully now. “That’s better. Now let’s get inside.”  
  
At the door they paused. “Spike, Diana, come in,” Buffy said.   
  
The moment they were through the doorway, Buffy released Spike’s arm with a disgusted gesture of her hand, as if she could not get her hand off him fast enough. He was a little surprised as the door was still open when she did.   
  
She caught his confused glance toward the door and smirked. “Containment spell. Now that you’re in, you’re not leaving ‘til we take the barrier down.”  
  
He felt an odd sinking feeling in his stomach; well, whatever the Slayer intended for them, there was nothing they could do about it now. Then his thoughts were momentarily distracted from pondering their fate, at the sight of the figure who had just emerged from the basement.  
  
“Darian!” he said, surprised, though the Slayer had told him he was here. He hadn’t given the lad a thought in the events of the evening.  
  
“Sire!” Darian’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of him. He had known they would be bringing Diana back, but the plan had not been for Spike to come with her. As he walked slowly to stand before his sire, his eyes welling with tears, and an almost awed expression, he looked at the Slayer and said softly, “I knew you wouldn’t leave him. Thank you.”  
  
Before Spike had time to wonder about that, the Slayer’s response made his stomach flip over inside him.  
  
“Don’t thank me yet,” she muttered, casting a dark look toward their little reunion. Then she turned her attention toward her friends, who had turned worried, expectant faces toward her. It was obvious from Buffy’s demeanor, the way she was treating the vamps they had gone to rescue like prisoners, that something unexpected had gone down in the Initiative. But as of yet she had not explained anything to them.  
  
She did not intend to yet. She did not yet understand herself all of what had happened, or how she felt about it, or how she should feel about it. She knew that Riley had done unspeakable things to Diana, and she could understand the rage that could have erupted when the young vampiress’s powerlessness was suddenly lifted from her, and she was faced with the opportunity to have her vengeance. And the horrific carnage she had seen – well, the girl *was* a vampire…so it would stand to reason that her vengeance would involve much bloodshed.  
  
But there was no way that she could justify what had been done to Riley. He *was* after all, still a person. Still a part of the humanity that she was duty-bound to protect. Riley should have been brought to justice for the crimes he’d committed against Diana, but not brutally tortured and murdered like that. A tiny part of her furiously raging mind reminded her that justice did not exist for someone like Diana, someone who legally did not even exist, was not human – that no one but her would have ever attempted to help the girl.  
  
Her stomach twisted in her, sick at the thought. Guilt overwhelmed her. If she had not attempted to help Diana, had not shut down her chip, Riley would still be alive. *Would still be abusing her,* that traitorous part of her mind inserted. Suddenly she wondered why Riley and Diana had both been in Spike’s suite that night to begin with.   
  
She glanced over at the three vampires talking quietly, intently, in the kitchen doorway, and noticed for the first time the bloody welts on Diana’s legs, visible under her short, tattered skirt. And Spike… God, he was a mess! His face, chest and back were bruised and covered in dried blood from countless wounds, like the ones on Diana’s legs. She had not seen the extent of the damage done to him, even when she had held him in the darkness of the van.  
  
Suddenly she stalked toward the three, stepping between them to face Spike. She felt a mingled feeling of guilt and satisfaction when he almost imperceptibly flinched back, tensing as she took his arm and pulled him unceremoniously toward the basement stairs. Diana looked worried and started to follow; Darian was worried too, but pulled her back. He knew better than to think that either of them could do anything to stop whatever the Slayer was going to do.  
  
“Diana, stay with your brother,” Buffy ordered sharply, opening the basement door. “Your daddy and I are going to have a little chat.”


	21. Chapter 21

Buffy stepped off the stairs into the kitchen, feeling utterly bereft. She hated to just walk away from him like that. Working together with him against the Initiative, actually getting to know him, all of it culminating in that one morning they had spent together in his room -- she hated to admit it but she had grown very attached to Spike, and had come to place a lot of trust in him. Now she was torn between that attachment, and her duty. She knew that what he had done was wrong, and it felt like such a betrayal.  
  
Still, his words rang in her mind, demanding her acknowledgment of the truth. What if it had been Dawn that had been kidnapped off the street, turned into a vampire and tortured and raped for months? What would she have allowed her sister to do -- or even done herself -- to the ones responsible?  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted at the top of the stairs when she saw Diana and Darian, sitting at the kitchen table with Anya. Diana was speaking quietly, haltingly, while Anya held her hands and kept nodding sympathetically every now and then. Darian sat close by his sister's side, supporting her with his nearness as she told them about her ordeal.  
  
Both vampires looked up anxiously when she entered the room, glancing behind her to see if Spike was with her.  
  
"He's still undead, not dust, so you can stop looking at me like that," she muttered, rolling her eyes in irritation.   
  
She was not supposed to feel sympathy and compassion for vampires; she was supposed to slay them. Yet here she was in this impossibly confusing situation, all because she had actually gone out of her way to *save* this little vampiress sitting at her kitchen table, looking at her as if *she* was the monster to be feared.  
  
Exhausted in every possible way, every fiber of her being, Buffy trudged into the living room. Another set of curious, anxious faces met her there. God, she just wanted to be alone! She had so much to attempt to process, she didn't even want to think about trying to explain it to her friends.  
  
Xander glanced nervously toward the kitchen, where Anya and Diana were talking seriously again. "Good thing she's not a vengeance demon anymore," he muttered. "Or Riley Finn would be missing some very important body parts."  
  
"I don't think Diana needs the services of a vengeance demon," Buffy said tiredly, sinking down on the couch between her two best friends.  
  
"Buffy," Willow began, and the genuine concern in her eyes almost brought her to tears again. "Please tell us what happened back there. You look terrible."  
  
"Thanks," Buffy snorted irritably, leaning her head on the back of the couch.  
  
"No, I just mean -- you look like it's been a really, *really* rough night, Buffy. Please talk to us."  
  
"Riley's dead." The words came out almost without her meaning to speak at all. In the shocked silence that filled the space after her announcement, she felt her eyes fill with tears again. She did not even know who the tears were for -- her dead ex-boyfriend, the two vampires he had victimized, or herself.  
  
"How?" Xander finally broke the silence, a suspicious frown on his face.   
  
Buffy hesitated. She really, *really* didn't want to tell them. "Diana and Spike," she finally replied, reluctantly.  
  
Willow let out a slow breath, her eyes widening. Xander's suspicion quickly turned to anger as he said, "What, he tried to stop them, so they killed him? God, Buffy, why did we even bring them here? Why didn't you just stake them in the Initiative?"  
  
"He didn't try to stop them," Buffy broke in, her quiet voice full of such a powerful, yet unidentifiable emotion, that it silenced any further objections. "When the chips shut down -- he was in the middle of -- he was raping her."  
  
Willow gasped, and Xander's mouth fell open. "Oh my God," he said softly.  
  
"He'd been doing it for hours. And forcing Spike to watch."  
  
Xander's head dropped forward into his hands for a moment, before he lifted it again, running a nervous hand through his thick dark hair. "I -- I don't know what to say," he said finally.  
  
Patting his arm gently, her own eyes still stricken with the horror of Buffy's revelation, Willow said, "Sometimes it's okay not to say anything, Xander."  
  
He glanced up sharply at the very subtle sarcasm in her tone, but she was not focused on him. She gently put her arms around Buffy. "This has got to be so hard for you, Buffy. In so many ways."  
  
Buffy nodded as a tear slipped down her face, relieved to have someone there who understood.  
  
"If it helps, Buffy," Willow said quietly. "I saw Diana. Those marks on her legs and stuff. If I was her, I'd have killed the creep, too."  
  
Buffy was startled by the cold anger in Willow's voice, and looked up at her quickly. "I'm not sure that helps, Will," she said softly in a shaky, miserable voice. "I'm so confused right now."  
  
"Well, if you want my opinion," Xander began.  
  
"Your opinion -- probably not helpful right now," Willow said in an overly kind voice. There was that sarcasm again!  
  
Irritated, Xander said, "Well, I've just gotta say this! You're acting like this is a normal girl we're talking about. This is a vicious killer, Buffy. She's proved it now. Not just some innocent victim. She and Spike killed a person. You should dust them. End of story."  
  
Willow looked horrified by his lack of compassion. “No, *not* end of story!” she said indignantly. “What about what Riley did?”  
  
“Wrong,” Xander conceded with a nod. “But as much as Diana might look like an actual person, she’s not. She’s just an animal, now, Will. And as much as saying this is making me the total bad guy here, and the looks you guys are giving me are seriously scary, cruelty to an animal is a crime, but not a capital offense. Not punishable by death.”  
  
“How can you say that?” Buffy demanded, incredulous, an oddly defensive note in her voice. “They’re not human, but they’re more than animals! And I don’t think for a second that what they did is all right, but Riley deserved to die. Maybe not like that – but he did deserve to die for what he did. And I can’t say I wouldn’t have killed him if I’d been in her place.” She paused. “By whatever means I had available to me.”  
  
Xander looked shocked by her word, but Willow nodded her understanding.  
  
Before Xander could say anything else in protest, Buffy said, “Don’t freak out on me here, okay? They’re chipped again now and can’t hurt anyone. And they’re confined to the house. So they’re not a threat. There’s nothing to worry about. And you know what?” she added as she stood up suddenly. “I am really tired of arguing with you about this, and tired of everything being so confusing and messed up, and just – just plain tired. So I’m going to bed now. You can let yourself out.”  
  
And without a backward glance she got up and walked up the stairs to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.  
  
Down in the basement, Spike sat against the wall, his knees pulled up in front of him, his arms resting on them, with his head buried in his arms. He would not have thought that Buffy’s rejection would be so absolutely crushing. It was only supposed to have been a game, wasn’t it? Just to have a little fun with the bint, string her along for a little while? So how had he ended up caring so much? Why was her intense disappointment, her dismissal of him as “just another vampire” so devastating?  
  
He heard footsteps on the basement stairs, and looked up hopefully. Maybe…maybe she had reconsidered?  
  
No, it was just his childe. Darian.  
  
An anxious frown on his face, he approached his sire. “Did – did she hurt you?” he asked.  
  
Spike let out a silent, bitter laugh. “Yes. Not perhaps the way you’re thinking though, lad.” With a resigned sigh, he patted the spot on the floor beside him once, indicating for Darian to have a seat.  
  
The young vampire was watching him closely, and Spike felt uncomfortable to see understanding in his soft blue eyes. “Do you love her?” he asked quietly, looking away from his sire’s eyes as he did.  
  
Spike turned a startled look on Darian. “What? No! No, I barely know the chit!”  
  
“And she risked her life to get you out of there,” Darian smiled, shaking his head slightly.  
  
“No, she risked it to get Diana out.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I asked…” Spike’s voice cut off as he realized the implication of what he was saying. “What were you before you were turned, some sort of shrink?” he asked, with a smirk.  
  
Darian shrugged with a smile. “Psych student,” he admitted. He paused before saying, “She was awfully worried about you. Before. Her friends didn’t want to help you…”  
  
Spike snorted. “Big surprise there, mate. No love lost between me and her soddin’ Scoobies!”  
  
Darian went on, “…but she insisted. She seems awfully concerned for someone who barely knows you.”  
  
“We’ve got a…a history,” Spike admitted softly, with a far-off look on his face. “And these past few weeks…working together on this…I guess we were getting a bit closer.” There was no way he was going to admit to his childe just how close; this conversation was already quite an unusual one for a sire to have with his childe. But Spike was running a bit low in the friends department at the moment, and needed to talk to someone.  
  
He sighed and put his head down again for a moment before raising it to say, “But that’s bloody shot to hell now.”   
  
“Give her a little time,” Darian suggested. He paused before adding, “The Slayer kept saying how she needed you there at the Initiative, even when I begged her to get you out, because I knew they’d blame Diana’s escape on you. She kept saying they were just going to get Diana, she needed you to get information for her and all that. But then when it came down to it…here you are.” He smiled up at his sire.  
  
A slow smile came over Spike’s face. He had never had a chance to get to know this childe of his that well, but his calm perception was quickly growing on him. “And your point, lad?” he said softly.  
  
“The point…well, I get the feeling this Slayer doesn’t always know what it is that she wants…but somehow she still always gets it in the end,” Darian finished.  
  
Spike laughed softly, feeling a bit better in spite of himself. Looking away, he replied, “Let’s hope that’s the case, lad. And let’s hope she wants what she says she doesn’t, this time.”  
  
  
At the Initiative headquarters, in General Cordova’s office, the atmosphere was tense and dangerous. The young guard who was showing the general the surveillance tapes from that night was nervous as he pointed to the screen above them.  
  
“See? It’s just like I said. Blank.”  
  
“And you didn’t notice this as soon as the screen *went* blank because…?” she demanded severely, one eyebrow raised threateningly.  
  
“I…I’m sorry, general…it’s just…nothing *ever* happens that late…”  
  
“That’s enough. I don’t need excuses. I need results,” she snapped. “Bring me the tapes from the entire day. The hall monitors, and Hostile 17’s quarters. I need to know if there was anything before the tapes shut off that might give us a clue as to how they did it. They had to have help from someone on the inside, because neither Hostile 17 nor his childe have access to any of our security systems.” She paused before correcting herself, “No, bring me the whole week. There’s no telling how long they’d been planning this.”  
  
“Yes, General,” the young soldier quickly replied, taking an unconscious half-step backward, desperate to be dismissed.  
  
With a tired sigh, as if she did not even have the energy to properly chastise the carelessness of the soldier, the general turned away with a wave of her hand. “Dismissed.”  
  
She sat down at her desk to wait, knowing the soldier would fulfill her command quickly, eager to undo the damage his lack of attention to his post had caused. Hopefully the tapes from that night would reveal how the hostiles had escaped, and which member of her organization was the traitor among them.


	22. Chapter 22

General Cordova watched with a cruel smile as the vicious sadistic scene on the screen before her played out. “I should have had Lieutenant Finn be the one to break Hostile 17,” she mused to herself. It was 3:00 am, and she was sitting alone in her office, reviewing the surveillance tapes from that night.   
  
She had the door locked, lest some hapless young soldier should wander in and see the terribly compromising image of Lieutenant Finn recorded on the security videos. There were probably a few of the troops milling about outside her office, discussing the evening’s events. Although he was dead now – a death she fully intended to avenge without mercy – it would still be very confusing to some of her troops to find out the way in which their superior officer had spent his free time.   
  
If those chips had not malfunctioned, she thought. And those two hostiles had stayed under his control, they would certainly have been completely broken by the time he would have finished with them. And though she preferred not to get her hands quite as dirty as her second-in-command had obviously enjoyed, she had to recognize a certain brutal artistry in the way he had manipulated the two vampires, using their affection for each other to enforce their submission to him.  
  
I should have had him take charge of breaking that cocky vamp, she thought with disgust. For all Lieutenant Finn thought of her, that so-called vampire slayer was worthless at it! She smiled darkly. It doesn’t matter now. When Hostile 17 is found, I’ll take that task in hand myself. And by the time I’m through with him, that vampire won’t dare to so much as look at me wrong!  
  
She watched in grim fascination as the little vampiress tore into the much larger man, savaging him, tossing him about like a rag doll on the screen before her. She grimaced with distaste; that was enough of that. She rewound the tape through some very uneventful footage from that afternoon, keeping an eye on it the entire time for anything unexpected or out of the ordinary. Suddenly, she stopped the tape as a familiar figure appeared on the screen, arresting her attention.  
  
She frowned, wondering. Then her eyes widened as it sank in just what she was seeing. She almost laughed in sheer surprise at the sight of the Slayer and Hostile 17 – in his bed!  
  
If that’s her version of punishment, she smirked. No wonder he’s so rebellious. He’s probably been trying to get punished! She noticed that the Slayer did seem to be the one in control of the recorded activities. Several times Hostile 17 attempted to move and was forced back down by the Slayer on top of him. However, he did not appear to be suffering; the expression on his face was one of sheer pleasure; he was obviously highly enjoying himself.  
  
Though suspicion began in her mind, it was not enough evidence to confirm the suspicions – yet. After all, a young woman like Ms. Summers, wielding life-or-death power over an attractive specimen such as Hostile 17 – it was not surprising that she might take advantage of that power to have a little fun. It wasn’t like the hostile could have done anything about it if he’d wanted to – not that he appeared to have wanted to.  
  
But it was when she rewound the tape even further that her suspicions were confirmed.  
  
“That’s my laptop!” she said aloud in indignation, though she was the only one in the room. She could barely believe her eyes, as she watched as Hostile 17 handed the laptop to the Slayer. But her laptop was always either with her, or under lock and key! How had he possibly gotten his hands on it? she wondered.   
  
Then she suddenly remembered Lieutenant Finn’s careless mistake in leaving it unattended a few afternoons ago. So Hostile 17 had taken it, and Ms. Summers had returned it for him! There was so much classified information on that laptop! They must have used some of it to figure out how to outsmart the security systems to pull off the escape.  
  
“So Ms. Summers, the vampire slayer, is the traitor among us,” she realized aloud, a slow, cruel smile spreading over her face. “Too bad. I had such high hopes for that girl.” She paused as she rose from her desk and turned off the tape. She had seen all she needed to see. She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, well. She can still be of benefit to my work – just not in the way I had planned.”  
  
And with a cold smile on her face, she set about setting about putting her new plans for the Slayer into motion.  
  
The next morning, Buffy was getting ready to leave for the Initiative. She had decided that the best thing to do was to simply go in as usual, acting as if she knew nothing about what had happened the night before. There was nothing to connect her with the escape, so acting any differently would only arouse unnecessary suspicions.  
  
She was at the kitchen counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee, when she heard the basement door open. Without meaning to she tensed, knowing without looking who was walking up behind her, and not wanting to talk to him. At this point, she simply had no idea what to even say.  
  
“Morning, Buffy,” that warm, familiar voice said, and she felt the edges of her resolve beginning to crumble already at the soft, hopeful note she heard in it.  
  
No, Buffy! she sternly reminded herself. Stay strong!   
  
She had made the mistake of falling for the sexy, tempting vampire – Again, she thought ruefully – and now she had to cut it off early, before she could develop any actual real feelings for him. The events of the evening before had proven her fears to be truth – it could never work. No matter what, a relationship between a vampire and a vampire Slayer was doomed to failure from the very start, destined to end in only one of two very unpleasant ways.  
  
His death, or hers.  
  
Better for both of them to keep as much emotional distance as possible. And as he obviously was not of a mind to do that, that left it up to her.  
  
“You know it wouldn’t kill you to speak to me, love,” Spike said, and she could clearly hear the hurt behind the irritation in his voice.  
  
“Good morning,” she replied tersely, as if it indeed pained her to say the words.  
  
“Come on, now, love,” he said in a solicitous voice, coming around to face her, seeking her eyes with his own deep blue gaze. She resolutely avoided that gaze, because she knew that once she looked into those eyes she would be in danger of losing herself and her resolve completely. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, pet, but you can’t go from shagging me senseless to shoving me out in the cold overnight.” His tone was teasing, coaxing.  
  
Buffy’s eyes shot up to his for just a moment before she looked away, irritated by his casual, familiar demeanor. How dare he flirt with her and attempt to act as if nothing had happened after – after everything!  
  
“Watch me!” she snapped, turning away from him again.  
  
“Kind of hard to do that when you won’t even bloody look at me,” he muttered, irritation sneaking into his own voice, as he moved around in front of her again, taking her arms gently in his hands and trying again to regain their lost eye contact.  
  
And he regained it.  
  
Fiery emerald eyes met his in a challenge as she glared pointedly down at his hands and then back up into his eyes. In a still sort of voice that was far more dangerous than a louder, angrier tone would have been, she said softly, “Take your hands off me.”  
  
He was no fool; he instantly obeyed. But the defeated, wounded look in his eyes when he turned away tore at her heart. Before he could argue any further – as she knew he would once given a few moments to rebuild his courage – or she could lose her determination, she hurried out the door and to her car.  
  
Sitting in her car in the parking lot, she took a deep breath before getting out, preparing herself to act surprised and distressed by the news of what had happened the night before. The distressed part would not be difficult; surprised on the other hand – she desperately hoped that she could pull it off.  
  
As she paused in the doorway to General Cordova’s office, keeping her expression positive, just short of outright cheerful, she noticed that the general’s expression was terse, troubled.  
  
“What’s wrong?” she asked, mentally congratulating herself on putting just the right note of concern in her voice.  
  
The general silently waved her on into the room, gesturing for her to close the door and sit down.  
  
“There was an incident last night,” she said finally, once Buffy was seated across from her. “A soldier was killed. Two hostiles escaped.”  
  
“H-how is that possible?” Buffy asked, frowning. “All of the hostiles are chipped. How could they have killed a soldier?”  
  
“The chips…malfunctioned. We managed to get them back up very quickly, but not before the two that escaped managed to do a lot of damage. Ms. Summers – I have bad news.”  
  
Buffy prepared herself to react appropriately, saying in an innocent tone, “What is it?”  
  
“It’s Lieutenant Finn. He’s the soldier who was killed. I’m sorry. I know you two were friends.” The general’s tone was sympathetic, her expression apologetic and sad.  
  
Buffy’s eyes widened with feigned shock; her mouth opened but she said nothing for a long moment. “Oh my God!” she finally whispered, her eyes staring blankly at the general, as if barely able to comprehend her words. “No…”  
  
“Hostile 17 and the childe – the one that’s caused so much trouble around here recently – killed Lieutenant Finn – brutally murdered him without provocation – and escaped. We searched the immediately surrounding area, but there was no sign of them,” the general explained.  
  
Buffy fought back her anger and revulsion at the general’s lie. The riding crop and handcuffs had been left on the floor in Spike’s room; surely she had to have some idea of what Riley had been doing before they had escaped.  
  
“Riley,” Buffy whispered, allowing the rage she felt at his name and the thought of what he had done to show in her eyes, letting the general believe it was directed toward his killers. Quickly meeting the general’s eyes, her own filled with tears, she said in a trembling voice, , “We’ve got to find them. Make them pay for what they did to him!”  
  
The general nodded her approval. “We’re agreed, then,” she said quietly. “Tonight…we hunt them down. We won’t stop until they’re found. And once they’re found – we’ll show them the meaning of pain.”  
  
Buffy nodded resolutely though the woman’s words chilled her to the bone, as Cordova outlined the specifics of her plan for her. They would meet here, at the Initiative headquarters, at 8:00 that night, to begin their search for the fugitive vampires. Then, they would continue hunting them until they were found, or daylight came, whichever occurred first. Cordova had decided that an overnight hunt would be most effective, as the vampires would likely be out attempting to feed, and not hidden away somewhere as they would be during daylight.  
  
“Go home and get some rest, Ms. Summers,” the general suggested kindly. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”  
  
And as Buffy rose and turned to go, she missed the secret, cruel smile on Cordova’s lips.


	23. Chapter 23

Buffy returned to her house, relieved for the chance to get some much-needed rest after the past few very stressful days. Despite her excuse to her friends about being tired, she had actually slept very little the night before. She climbed slowly up the stairs to her room, trying to shut out the swirling thoughts that threatened to ruin even this rare chance at rest.  
  
She opened the door to her room – and jumped in surprise and fear. The cause of her reaction, standing across the room by her window, also jumped, equally startled.  
  
Anger quickly took the place of her surprise as she stalked across the room toward the nervous vampire, who instinctively backed up a step or two as she approached.  
  
“Spike, what the hell do you think you’re doing in here?” she demanded, taking him by the arm and jerking him toward her.  
  
“Now, Slayer,” he said, his voice a little shaky at the fury in her eyes. “Just calm down.”  
  
“Don’t you tell *me* to calm down, Spike, you’re the one in my room when I’m not here!” She frowned, looking away as she considered her choice of words, before correcting herself. “When I *wasn’t* here. What are you doing here?” she demanded again, slowly and distinctly.  
  
“I was just – waiting for you,” he said, his voice softening, gazing into her eyes with his own soft blue ones. The sorrow and vulnerability in those eyes nearly melted her anger away.  
  
At the last second she remembered that she had a *right* to be angry, and focused on that. “Why would you be waiting for me? I wasn’t supposed to be back for hours yet!”  
  
“I – I just…” Spike couldn’t think of an answer that would be acceptable to her. He had just wanted to feel close to her, and all she had done for the past couple of days was reject him. “I just want you to talk to me, Buffy,” he finally admitted, knowing it was not really an answer to her question, but it was all he knew to say.  
  
The pain in his eyes was her undoing. Releasing his arm, abandoning her menacing posture for one that spoke of sadness and defeat, she turned away from him slightly. “Spike,” she said softly in a tired voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I said it all the other night. All I have to say. I’m tired. Can’t you please just leave?”  
  
Spike stood there for a moment, his mouth working with repressed emotion, before he started slowly toward the door. Buffy breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on her bed.  
  
Suddenly, near the door, he stopped. “No,” he said softly, his back still turned to her.  
  
Not sure she had heard him correctly, Buffy said with her eyebrows raised, staring at his back, “Excuse me?”  
  
As he turned slowly to face her, she felt her insides quaking in an odd way at the look on his face. That old patented Spike-smirk. “No,” he said more firmly. “Who says you get to have your say and I don’t, then, Slayer? Hmm?” he demanded, advancing on her quickly, determination in his voice and in his stride. “You’ve said an awful lot these past couple of days…but I don’t know if you’ve actually *listened* to a bloody word!” By this point he was standing right in front of her.  
  
“You’re so bloody furious with me because Diana and I killed that wanker. Well what do you do every single soddin’ night of your life, love?” he demanded.  
  
Buffy scoffed, relieved that he had given her something to work with. She had not seen this much fire in the vampire in a long time; she had a feeling this was one argument she was going to be hard-pressed to win. “That is *not* the same,” she declared, shaking her head as she rose to her feet. She felt at a disadvantage, sitting on the bed while he towered over her. “The vampires I slay are killers, Spike. It’s my duty, I’m the…”  
  
“Bloody chosen one, only one to stand alone, and all that bloody nonsense, right?” he sneered. “Chosen to fight evil…right? To stand against the monsters and fight them back, to protect their helpless victims?”  
  
She could tell where he was going with this, but he had picked up too much steam by now to allow himself to be interrupted. Leaning in closer to her, he said in a softer voice, his electric blue eyes arresting her and refusing to let go, “Finn was a monster, Buffy. A monster. You might not care one bloody bit what he did to Diana, because she’s a vampire and he’s human…”   
  
Atop her sputtered protests and denials he continued, “But she wasn’t always. She was a human, Buffy. A normal girl with a normal life, and he took that all away from her and killed her, just to turn her into his bloody slave…because he couldn’t handle being rejected by a woman who knows what she wants…again…” He allowed himself a small smile of appreciation that the Slayer herself had been way too much for Riley Finn to handle.  
  
“If she’s any less than human, it’s because he made her that way. She’s the victim in all this, love.” He drew closer to her suddenly, and she desperately wondered if he could hear her heartbeat quicken. “And you never answered my question before, Slayer,” he said coolly, his eyes narrowing as he faced her without any inclination to back down. “Just exactly what *would* you do if it was you or yours he’d done it to?” There was a challenge in the words, and she knew he was not going to let her get away without answering this time.  
  
She could feel her anger and frustration building with her confusion and realization that some of his points were actually valid. Suddenly she was very annoyed that this chipped, helpless vampire who couldn’t lay a finger on her if he wanted to had *her* backed into a corner, literally *and* figuratively. Pulling herself up to her full, still-not-intimidating height, she took a step forward, forcing him to step back as the answer exploded from her with her anger.  
  
“I’d kill him, Spike,” she admitted in a voice that trembled with cold rage. “I would take my sharpest, pointiest weapon and I would kill him if he ever touched one of my family. If he tried to hide, I’d find him. If he tried to run, I’d catch him. I would track him down to the ends of the earth and make the disgusting piece of garbage pay for what he did.”  
Her own eyes widened with the realization of the primal, instinctive savagery of her tone.  
  
When she looked back up into the fathomless blue depths of his eyes, he was smiling sadly. “You see, love?” he said softly. “You’re not so very different from her.”  
  
She looked away, stunned by the truth in his words.  
  
Then she was absolutely blown away by the depth of emotion, the simple sincerity, of his next words. “You’re not so very different from *me*.”  
  
He paused, calmer now, as he could see that he was finally, finally getting through to her. “Love, I’ve been around a lot longer than you have, seen a bloody awful lot. Seems to me, it’s not about humans and vampires or souls or no souls, or any of that. Seems to me it’s about what you *do*.”  
  
“A bloke like Finn, from a right comfortable family, raised up right, bloody soddin’ precious *soul* intact,” he couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his tone, but it was gone again in a moment. “Don’t much matter when he does the sort of things he did. Murder. Rape. Torture. I’d say the good lieutenant definitely qualified as evil. Then you take our little Diana,” he went on, a slight tremor in his voice. “People see her as evil. Soulless monster, they’d say. ‘Cept that til last night, she’d never hurt a living thing. And the only one she’s hurt now is the *evil monster* that kept her chained like an animal and beat and tortured and raped her for months! Now which of those two would you say is evil, love?”   
  
His intense eyes demanded her answer, and it was clear to her, but she could not bring herself to say it. She looked away again.  
  
Pressing his advantage, he stepped closer to her, once again putting his hands on her arms, seeking her eyes again. This time there were no threats; she allowed him to touch her without hesitation, looking back up into his eyes – and the warmth and devotion she saw there took her breath away.  
  
“Now, me, love,” he went on, a sad, self-deprecating smile on his perfect lips. “I’ve done a lot worse than old Finn in my day. Not lately, mind you. But I’ve done some bloody awful things. I won’t lie; wouldn’t do me any good. You know all about me, love,” he admitted, his voice soft and careful. “And what Diana and I did to that monster…I can’t say I’d do it differently if I had it to do over. But then…neither could you,” he pointed out gently before she could become incensed by his statement.  
  
Suddenly he looked away, almost shyly, for a moment before meeting her eyes again. And the longing, the desperation she saw there made her heart quicken again. God, she wanted him!  
  
“Buffy – I can’t undo what’s done. Any of it. I’m not sure I would if I could. But like I said….good and evil…it’s all about your choices. And I choose you, Buffy, whatever else that might hold. If you’ll have me, love, I’ll do whatever it takes to be…to be deserving of you. It’s not like I have a bloody choice right now,” he admitted with a soft laugh. “But chip or no chip…you say the word and it’s done. I’ve been evil for a long time, Buffy. But I can be good. I can. If you want me to. If – if you’ll help me.”  
  
The intensity of his devotion, the enormous weight of what he was telling her, was overwhelming to her. She was suddenly aware that he was placing her in the position of his conscience, out of his desire to be with her, and that responsibility was huge to her. But she wanted it! She wanted *him*!  
  
She tried to tell him, but her words seemed to come out wrong, as she helplessly met his eyes, tears in her own, “Oh, Spike, I want you to…I want…I want you!” That was all she could say, and then she put her hand behind his head and drew him to her, kissing him with a tenderness that had not been in their last embraces. She slowly pulled away, gazing into his eyes, hoping he could see what she felt but could not put into words.  
  
Judging by the way his eyes were shining, the elation in the cautious upturn of the beginnings of a smile, the way he suddenly pulled her to him and kissed her again with a fervent intensity…he saw.  
  
She could feel her body responding even before his hands left her arms and began their slow wandering up and down her body. Suddenly she grabbed him and turned them around, pushing him down onto the bed, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt before they were even lying down.  
  
“Oh Buffy,” he whispered, reaching to lift her shirt over her head. “Sweet, pretty Buffy!” he breathed, and the unabashed awe in his voice quickened her arousal.  
  
As her hands reached downward, struggling blindly for a moment with his zipper as her lips and tongue continued their welcome assault of his mouth, she whispered, “Spike! Spike I want you!”  
  
“I’m yours, pet,” he whispered, back, and then gasped, his hands clutching at the silky blonde strands of her hair as she freed him and took him in her hand.  
  
“Mine,” she whispered, her soft hands gently owning what he had promised to be hers, as she kissed his throat. “All mine.”  
  
“All yours,” he agreed in a hoarse whisper. “Yours, Buffy…only yours.”  
  
Over an hour later, Buffy lay still trying to catch her breath, comfortably held in Spike’s strong, steady arms. “Well,” she whispered. “So much for getting rested up for tonight.”  
  
“What’s tonight, love, and should I be rested up too?” he asked her with a suggestive wiggle of his hips under her.  
  
She gasped, replying quickly, “Spike! Not again! I have to get some rest, really.”  
  
“Why?” he asked her, his fingers gently running through her honey-blonde hair.  
  
She turned to look at him with a teasing grin. “I’m supposed to be hunting you down.”  
  
“Newsflash, pet. You caught me,” he smirked, and she couldn’t help but kiss him again.  
  
When they broke apart, she said, “No, General Cordova’s arranging a search mission tonight. We’re supposed to be hunting down you and Diana. Don’t worry, I’m gonna do all I can to keep them away from here.”  
  
Spike frowned. “Buffy, love…are you absolutely sure there’s no way that anything was picked up on those cameras?”  
  
“Positive. I mean, Will was positive,” she amended. “And she acted totally normal with me today. You should have seen me. I deserve an Oscar,” she declared, smiling proudly up at him for a moment before kissing him again.  
  
“It just makes me nervous, pet. If she were to be on to you…take it from someone who knows…it could be very *very* bad for you, pet. She doesn’t take kindly to being lied to. If she found out it was you somehow…”  
  
“She doesn’t know it was me,” Buffy insisted. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” She rolled over on top of him again, holding his head in her hands as she kissed him again, slowly, thoroughly. “Don’t worry,” she whispered when they parted.  
  
He smiled dazedly up at her and murmured, “’Bout what?”


	24. Chapter 24

It was 7:55 when Buffy walked into General Cordova’s office. Encouraged by the success of her earlier act, and thus in a positive frame of mind, she was sure that she could easily convince them that she was genuinely trying to find Spike and Diana, while throwing off the real trail if they should happen to find it.  
  
She took a deep breath, then entered the room with grim determination in her eyes.  
  
“I see you’re ready, Ms. Summers,” the general smiled at her warmly, rising from her desk as she entered to walk around it and greet her.  
  
Buffy thought that was a bit odd; the general had never bothered to come around the desk to talk to her; she had always just addressed her from behind it. “Where is…everyone?” Buffy wondered aloud, realizing that as of yet she and Cordova seemed to be the only ones there.  
  
“A sudden emergency came up,” Cordova said coolly as she reached Buffy. “It’s just going to be you and me and a few others I just couldn’t spare.” Buffy was further unsettled when Cordova put an oddly motherly arm around her waist. “You see, my dear, there’s been a slight change in plans.”  
  
Alarms were going off in Buffy’s head; something was seriously wrong with this picture. “What sort of change?” she asked warily, and just as she pulled away from the woman’s odd embrace, she felt a slight, quick little pain in her side. *Did she just pinch me?* she wondered dully, glancing down to see the hypodermic needle in the general’s hand.   
  
She wasn’t even bothering to hide what she had done.  
  
Buffy looked back up at the general with sudden comprehension as she realized she’d been trapped. But suddenly, she could hardly bring herself to care, as the powerful sedative she’d been injected with began to take effect as it made its way through her system.  
  
“I’m sorry, Buffy,” Cordova said softly, as the girl sank to her knees, trying to maintain consciousness against the black wave that assailed her. “You had such a bright future.” Her tone was sympathetic, and she had a falsely sad smile on her face.  
  
“I’m so sorry to see it fade away,” the general finished, her smile fading to a grim resolve. But Buffy couldn’t hear her above the roaring in her ears. And then she couldn’t see her, either, as everything went dark.  
  
“Oh. My. God,” Willow’s voice was soft, hushed and almost awed as she stared at the screen of her laptop.  
  
Spike got up from his seat at the table near hers to peer over her shoulder at the screen. “What’d you find, Red?” he asked her.  
  
“Everything. I think,” she replied, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she looked at him. “I managed to crack Cordova’s password to get into her records…and what this looks like is…like her *personal* records…kind of like a log that she keeps herself. You know, the really *really* secret stuff!” Her voice was gleeful, like a child who had just gotten away with something really, really bad.  
  
“I’m in awe of you, Red,” Spike said, shaking his head in amazement, genuine admiration in his eyes.  
  
Xander and Anya were cuddling on the couch in the living room, but had overheard and appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Find something, Will?” Xander asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Willow sounded distracted as she scrolled through the recent history. “This one’s from the other day when we got you and Diana out,” she said to Spike. “Not much here…she doesn’t have a clue…at least she didn’t when she wrote this.” She frowned and made a worried little hissing sound over her teeth, glancing at him as she said, “She sure was mad though.”  
  
Willow scrolled on down to the next day’s record, reading it over quickly. Xander and Anya sat down at the table, waiting for her to tell them if she found anything interesting. Suddenly Spike’s eyes widened and his face turned even paler than usual…a moment before Willow’s face turned bright red and her mouth opened in a shocked little “o”.  
  
“Oh, bollocks, I’m such a stupid git!” Spike exploded suddenly, turning his back on Willow and the laptop. “Why didn’t I even think of it? Of course she’d watch the tapes, the bloody sadistic bint! Bloody soddin’ *hell*!!” he berated himself, his voice rising on the last few words until he was shouting.  
  
Willow was still staring at the screen, re-reading the general’s notes again and again.  
  
“What is it?” Xander asked, interested now, getting up to go look.  
  
Spike suddenly turned and leaned over Willow’s shoulder, slamming the laptop shut. “Nothing to see there…is there, Red?” he asked her pointedly, catching her eye with a look that was half-threatening, half-pleading.  
  
“N-no…um…” Willow stammered. “It’s just…” Suddenly her eyes widened even more as a new realization struck her, much more troubling than the notes she had just read. “Oh my God! Buffy’s in trouble!”  
  
“What?” Xander demanded to know. “What is going on here, Will?”  
  
“Well, after we did the whole big escape thing, Cordova went back and reviewed the surveillance tapes from Spike’s room…which happened to be where Buffy and he would meet to…strategize,” Willow explained in a voice that was somehow too innocent. “She saw Spike giving it to Buffy…the laptop!” she suddenly burst out, her expression anguished at the near-slip that Xander and Anya still did not understand. “She saw him giving her the laptop! She knows that Buffy is against her. Let me see if it says what she’s planning to do about it.” She opened the laptop, carefully positioning it so that the screen pointed away from Xander.  
  
“I don’t need to know anymore, Buffy’s in danger. Cordova will kill her,” Spike said, his voice low and dark. “We’ve got to get in there and get her out.”  
  
“Oh, no,” Willow whispered suddenly, her eyes stricken with panic. “Oh, God!”  
  
“What?” Spike demanded, leaning over her shoulder again.  
  
“She’s not gonna kill her. Not *just* kill her. It’s worse than that,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly.  
  
Spike took in a sharp breath beside her as he read what she had just seen. “Much worse,” he said grimly.  
  
“What could be worse?” Xander asked, fear beginning to show in his brown eyes.  
  
“A lot of things, which unfortunately I’ll never have the joy of watching you experience,” Spike snapped. “And Cordova is very very good at most of them. Willow,” he said, startling her to attention with the use of her actual name. “We need to figure out a way to get this soddin’ chip down. I have to get in there and get her out, and I don’t stand a chance with this bloody thing in my head.” His eyes met hers intensely, desperately, willing her to see that his motives were sincere.   
  
“Oh, no,” Xander said, shaking his head. “We are *so* not doing that!”  
  
“We may not have a choice, Xander,” Willow said quietly. “We don’t know the Initiative like Spike does, and if we did we can’t fight armed soldiers. Spike might be Buffy’s only chance.” Before he could protest she turned to him and said, “Give me a few minutes. I need to see what I can find on the controls for the chips. They changed the codes for them yesterday, because of the escape. But now that I’m in to her personal stuff, it shouldn’t take me long to find them.”  
  
“Good, cause from the looks of this Buffy might not have long,” Spike said softly. There was silence for a few moments before he said quietly, as a thought dawned on him. “*We* might not have long.” His voice was quiet and intense. He turned back to Willow, his ally in this mess. “Red…if General Bitch knows Buffy helped us escape…”  
  
Her eyes widened as they met his again. “…they could be headed right here,” she finished in a whisper. She jumped up from the table, snapping the laptop shut. “We need to get out of here, now!” she said, uncharacteristically taking charge of the situation.  
  
“The containment spell,” Spike frowned, giving her a questioning look.  
  
“Oh, that’s nothing,” Willow shrugged. “Works just like an invite, only backwards. All I’ve gotta do is tell you guys to come outside,” she said, her voice light and unconcerned.  
  
Spike was stunned that it was that simple. “All right then,” he said after a moment. “I’ll go down and get Diana and Darian.”  
  
“Good,” Willow said, still in take-charge mode. “I’ll start the van. We have to get away from here like now!”  
  
Buffy’s head felt like it was about to explode. A blinding, white-hot pain tore through it, ripping her from the fog of unconsciousness back to awareness. She tried to raise a hand to her head. Couldn’t. She tried to remember where she was, why she couldn’t move her hands…  
  
She struggled to open her eyes against the pain in her head, but found that no matter how hard she tried, all she saw was black. A distant memory played at the edges of her mind…what was it Cordova had said? *Sensory deprivation.* She moved the back of her head against whatever surface she was lying on and felt the fabric over her eyes move. So she was blindfolded, then.  
  
She tried again to move her wrists, to no avail. The restraints felt like leather against her skin, and she remembered the bonds that had held Spike in the solitary confinement cell. She pulled against them, but she was still weak from whatever drug Cordova had shot into her system, and her bonds held firm.  
  
Ok. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. She fought off the rising panic in her at this utter helplessness. Though she knew anyone who heard her in this wretched place would be more likely to hurt her than to help her, she tried to scream and could only get out a weak strangled gasping sound. She tried to pull against whatever it was that was constricting her throat, not allowing the sound to come out, and realized that another tight bond, like the ones at her wrists, was around her neck, slack enough to allow her to breathe, but tight enough to prevent her from making much of a sound at all.  
  
And she was cold. Freezing in fact. *Oh, God!* she realized with a strangled sob that sounded only in her mind. Her clothes were gone. She was lying somewhere in the Initiative no doubt, bound, blindfolded, gagged and *naked*! She had never felt so utterly helpless before – so terrified. Desperately she strained against the bonds that held her, but they did not give at all. Cordova had been prepared for her, she realized.  
  
She could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage as she finally gave up the struggles for the moment, trying to just calm down and *think*. There had to be a way out of this…right? There was *always* a way out!  
  
Suddenly, the sound of a door slowly opening made her freeze in fear, every nerve, every muscle in her body alert and aware. She could not tell who had entered the room, but a mind-numbing, almost physically painful terror seized her at the realization that she was utterly, completely at their mercy. Unbidden, thoughts of Diana came to her mind. Was this what it had been like for her? When Riley had come to her? Perhaps not physically bound as she was now, but nevertheless knowing that she was absolutely powerless to defend herself in any way? That whatever he wanted to do to her was exactly what would happen, and there was nothing in the world she could do about it?  
  
Just like Buffy felt now?  
  
A familiar voice suddenly broke through her terrified reverie.  
  
“So we’re awake now, are we?” Cordova’s voice, calm, smugly triumphant. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to miss this.”  
  
Buffy tried again to speak, to demand her release, to ask what was going to be done to her, but the strap around her throat prevented it.  
  
“You shouldn’t have tried to outsmart me, Ms. Summers,” Cordova reprimanded her in an almost gentle voice. “No one ever has. No one ever will.” She paused, as if sensing what Buffy must be thinking. “Oh I know…your little hostile friends you ‘rescued.’ They should be along shortly. They’re the ‘emergency’ that kept most of my men detained tonight,” she laughed cruelly. Her voice suddenly harder, she added, “And when I’m through with them they’ll curse your name for *rescuing* them!”  
  
Buffy heard a faint metallic scraping sound that set her straining, tense nerves even further on edge and sent another wave of sick terror through her body. “And as for you, Ms. Summers,” the general continued. “I had hoped that you would rise in the ranks of this project, do very well for yourself and for me…too bad your priorities were so mixed up. But it’s not so bad, I suppose,” she mused. “I’d wondered ever since Lieutenant Finn told me about you…what makes this girl different? How can this seemingly ordinary girl have the incredible power and stamina that you do? It’s a scientific mystery to me.” Her voice was casual, almost friendly, as if she was confiding in Buffy. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, and so near to Buffy’s ear that she jumped, pulling against her bonds without even meaning to.  
  
“Let’s solve the mystery, shall we?”


	25. Chapter 25

For a few minutes the house was a blur of activity as the unlikely little band of fugitives began gathering a few things they thought they might need. There was no telling when they would be back. Fortunately, as soon as she had brought the vampires into the house, Buffy had insisted that her mother take Dawn and go out of town for a few days – just in case. Now, it was a small relief to know that Buffy’s family was not in any danger.  
  
As a sudden sickening thought occurred to Spike, he turned in the foyer and went up the stairs to Buffy’s room. Frowning when she noticed, Willow followed him silently. When she reached the doorway to Buffy’s room, there he stood at the closet, quickly going through her clothes.  
  
“What are you doing?” To her credit there was only a hint of suspicion in the red-headed witch’s voice, as she slowly crossed the room to stand beside him.  
  
He half-turned to glance at her, still running the clothes along the rod, looking for something. “She’s – she’s not gonna have any clothes when we find her, love. If Cordova’s trying to use her for some kind of bloody experiment….” His voice trailed off, and he added, softer, his back to Willow. “She’s gotta have something to wear.”  
  
Willow watched as he settled on a soft, loose bathrobe. Easy to get on in a hurry, and providing a lot of coverage. He started to turn away, when something caught his eye.  
He whirled back around and pulled the clothes all to one end of the rod.  
  
There it was. His black leather duster. His eyes widened in surprise, and an almost-awe, as he slowly took it from the hanger, staring at it. His mouth opened and closed a few, times, not knowing what to say. “I – I thought it’d have been long since gone,” he whispered. “Hanging in the closet of some bloody soldier…not…not…” He looked back up at her with some indefinable emotion in his eyes.  
  
Staring at the coat, as surprised as he was to have found it in Buffy’s closet, Willow gave him a small smile. “Well it looks like this,” she waved her hand in a general gesture that he somehow knew to indicate his relationship with Buffy, “wasn’t as sudden as I thought.”  
  
“She’s had this here…all this time…” he murmured thoughtfully.  
  
Thinking back over the past few months, in light of what she knew now, Willow nodded slowly. “I think she missed you, Spike. A lot.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have thought she’d have cared. I *didn’t* think she cared. I thought – I thought she was – bloody glad to be rid of me.” His voice was a whisper by the end.  
  
“No,” Willow quickly, gently assured him. “She never mentioned you after she went to your crypt and found that you were gone. I – I think now that it must have been too painful for her.”  
  
He stared at the coat in his hands for a moment, then slowly, deliberately, put it on. He looked back up at Willow with fire in his eyes. “Well, I’m not gonna lose her now!” he declared in determination. “That bloody bitch is not gonna take her from me! We’re gonna get her out of there.”  
  
He strode toward the door quickly, on a mission, and as Willow followed she heard him whisper under his breath, “Hold on, Baby…I’m coming.”  
  
The same intense, all-consuming pain that had driven Buffy from consciousness, now yanked her violently back to it. She tried to scream again, but even had she not been gagged, her throat was raw and bleeding from hours of previous silenced screams.  
  
Apparantly, the way Cordova saw it, if a being was low enough in her opinion to be a potential test subject for her experiments, they were also too low a life form to warrant the use of anesthetics. For hours now, the general had been prodding, cutting, taking various samples, and the sedative had worn off shortly after Buffy had awakened strapped to the table.  
  
She thought again of the vampires in her care at her house, and hoped desperately that they had escaped the soldiers Cordova had sent for them. She suddenly realized that the surgery to implant their chips had probably been done like this – with restraints in place of anesthetic. Spike had told her that he could not remember the chip being implanted in his head; she wondered now if he had told her the truth.  
  
When she thought of Spike, she wondered if he would have figured out that something was wrong by now. No, she realized with a sick, sinking feeling in her stomach. The “hunt” was supposed to last all night. Cordova would be long since finished with her “experiments” by morning – she hoped. So there was no help coming. Ironic, that she, the vampire slayer, should die not by the hand of a demon or vampire, but by that of a twisted, sadistic *human*, she thought.  
  
*You were right, Spike,* she thought, as tears streaked her face. *About all of it. And now I’ll never get to tell you.*  
  
And then Cordova’s blade sliced into her flesh again, and all thought was stolen from her, and all there was, was pain.  
  
The first couple of minutes in the van were silent, each one lost in their own private thoughts. Xander and Anya sat in the front of the van, Xander driving, since he drove the fastest. The children sat in the seat behind them, and Willow and Spike sat in the very back. They had both sensed that they might have more to talk about, and best said without the listening ears of Xander Harris to make his judgments.  
  
After a minute of so of driving, Xander spoke in a frustrated, tense voice that spoke of his fear. “I don’t even know where the hell I’m going! These government types probably know where we live!”  
  
“I know!” Spike suddenly said, after a moment of pensive silence.  
  
The suggestion he made was met with a very mixed response, but eventually, as there was nowhere else to go, they headed off in that direction. Once Anya started talking to Xander in the front, drawing the attention of the two younger vamps with her animated, often shockingly blunt monologue, Willow turned to Spike.  
  
“How long?”  
  
“How long what?” Spike asked innocently, really not wanting to have this conversation.  
  
“Don’t even, Spike. I saw those notes Cordova made on the surveillance tapes, so don’t play games with me.” She paused, then added as an afterthought, “Even *I* can kick your butt right now, so don’t mess with me!” Her tone was unconvincingly threatening. But although there was not a doubt in his mind that the girl would never lay a hand on him, he could tell that she meant business.  
  
“Just a few days, Red,” he assured her. “It all happened so fast. That tape Cordova saw from a couple days back – that was the first time.” He paused, adding in a quiet, serious voice, “She wasn’t trying to hide it from you. We didn’t really mean for it to happen, and then all this went down…”  
  
“You didn’t *mean* for it to happen?” she echoed dubiously. “Then it was just – just sex? Just – accidental – sex?” Her tone showed him just how ridiculous it really sounded.  
  
“Ok, we meant to,” he admitted. “But it wasn’t ‘just sex’, Red,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, gesturing for her to keep hers down as well as he glanced up toward Xander anxiously. He paused, looking down for a moment before raising his eyes to hers. “I’m not honestly sure I know what it is we have, Red – me and Buffy. But I care about her – I swear I do. I’m not in this just for some bloody trophy, just to prove I can, or some rot like that. I – she – she’s all I bloody think about,” he finally admitted, looking down again.  
  
“I believe you,” Willow said softly. She waited a moment before going on. “Just so you know, Spike – I understand about what happened. With Riley. I – I saw you two that night – what he’d done to you and Diana. I told Buffy I – I would have killed him too.”  
  
He was surprised by that. But after looking up at the expression on her face, he believed her.  
  
“If you really care about Buffy,” she went on. “I think it’s great that she’s found someone. She’s been really lonely for a long time now.”  
  
A small smile played about the corners of Spike’s mouth. “Are you giving me your – your *blessing* to see Buffy, Red?” he asked with mild incredulity.  
  
She shrugged in a dismissive way. “Well, you know. With the whole standard ‘hurt her in any way shape or form and I’ll teach you the meaning of pain’ warning in place, of course.”  
  
“Of course,” he nodded, smile widening. Then he added seriously, “Don’t worry, Red. I won’t.”  
  
She smiled back for a moment before speaking. “I believe you.”  
  
At that moment, they pulled up and stopped at their destination, a place very familiar to all of them, but especially to Spike.   
  
The old mansion.  
  
Once they were all safely inside, Willow set up her laptop to begin cracking the Initiative’s new controls, while Spike gave his children a stern warning not to leave the mansion. He decided as he walked to where Willow was set up that it would be wise not to say anything to them about the chips going down. There was no telling how they might react to being suddenly non-defenseless. He could almost hear Xander saying how if Diana’s reaction the last time was any indication, it would be best to keep them chipped. But Spike knew that “the last time” had been a very different matter indeed.  
  
“Any luck yet?” he asked Willow anxiously as he reached her.  
  
She nodded slowly, focused on the screen in front of her. “Just like last time, though, they’ve got a back-up, and I’m not sure how long it will take to get that down, too. But I can shut down the chips temporarily, and scramble the signals some so that it’ll take them a little while to get them back up.”  
  
“How long’s a little while?”  
  
She grimaced apologetically. “Half an hour, maybe? Maybe longer?”  
  
He frowned in disappointment. Then he sighed. “It’ll have to do,” he said. “We can’t wait any longer, we’ve got to get her out of there.”  
  
Willow nodded, her resolve-face in place. “We haven’t got a choice,” she agreed. Suddenly she looked up at him speculatively. “There’s something I’d like to try first, though.”  
  
About an hour later, Spike, Willow, and Xander were in the van, parked behind the Initiative headquarters. All was dark inside; the place appeared deserted.  
  
“Do you think they took her somewhere else?” Xander asked, uncertain.  
  
Spike shook his head. “No. She’s here. I can – I can feel it.”  
  
Willow just nodded in acceptance, but Xander gave him a suspicious look. “Ok, that’s just creepy,” he informed him.  
  
“Well, I can! She’s in there! Are we ready to do this, then?” he asked Willow impatiently.  
  
She looked down at her laptop, casting a dim glow through the dark van, and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll shut down the locks first so you can get in, and then once I see you go in, I’ll shut down the chips. It should take them at least half an hour to get them back up, but you’ll have to hurry. Find Buffy, get her, and get out. We’ll be right here, waiting. If you need any help,” she left off there, tapping a finger against her temple as she finished, a little smugly, in his mind, *Just call.*  
  
Although he knew it was actually a very good idea, it was vaguely unsettling to him to hear the witch’s voice in his head. But they would have no other way of communicating once he went inside.  
  
“Ok,” Willow said, her voice strained, and with a little flourish she pressed a key on her laptop, muttering under her breath, “Open, sesame.”  
  
They waited with baited breath for a few seconds, but as Willow had predicted, no alarms broke the silence at the breach of security. The Initiative didn’t know it, but they were wide open.  
  
Spike drew in a deep, unnecessary breath as he slid the van door open. “Right then,” he breathed out. “Back into the lion’s den. Here goes everything!”


	26. Chapter 26

Spike halfway expected the door to be locked as he reached for the handle, trying his best to be perfectly silent. The knob turned easily in his hand, and slid open without a sound. He was grateful for his keen vampire senses in the pitch darkness that surrounded him.   
  
Wherever they were keeping Buffy, he was certain that it was somewhere deep inside the facility, where whatever light was being used could not penetrate to here, on the main floor. He shuddered with the memory of the experimental laboratories, somewhere in the basement of the building. Could he find them again? he wondered. After all, when he had left the last time he had been there, he had been so out of his mind with pain from the surgery, sans pain-killers of any kind, that he had not been aware of anything but the pain for hours.  
  
A new surge of determination hit him at the memory, at the thought of Buffy somewhere in this place, enduring the same treatment. He walked quickly and quietly down the dark hallways, twisting and turning, hoping he would be able to remember the way back, as he searched for some way downstairs. Finally he found an exit door leading into a stairwell.  
  
*Red.*  
  
*Yeah.*  
  
*Are all the alarms cut? I’m ‘bout to go through a door marked ‘fire exit only’ and don’t fancy making it this far just to get caught by a bloody fire alarm!*  
  
*Yeah. They’re off. Shouldn’t be a problem,* she responded.  
  
With a deep breath, rueing the fact that he had to place so much trust in anyone, even if it was Willow, he opened the door, releasing the breath in relief when no alarms sounded. Still, he realized that from here on out he would have to be more cautious, when he saw that the hallway at the foot of the stairwell was brightly lit.  
  
On silent, catlike footsteps he made his way to the door at the foot of the stairwell, peering cautiously out into the hall. It appeared to be deserted.   
  
*The chip’s off. Right, Red?*  
  
Her voice in his head sounded irritated. *Yes, Spike, the chip is off. Now could you quit calling me unless you need me, because every time you do I almost have a heart attack, ok?*  
  
He fought the hysterical urge to laugh, out of sheer nervousness, and replied, *Right. Next time you hear my voice it’ll be an emergency.*  
  
*Oh, that’s comforting!*  
  
He smirked to himself, but did not reply. Taking another deep, steadying breath, he stepped out into the hallway. His enhanced hearing did not pick up any sound, and there was no sign of any life up and down the hallway. He made his way cautiously down the hall, glancing through the small windows into the rooms that lined it. All of them were dark.  
  
He turned several corners, investigated several different hallways in this manner, with no luck. He was beginning to grow frustrated and impatient; he had used up ten minutes already just in searching, and still not found her. Just then, he heard voices coming from around the corner ahead of him. He hurriedly tried the doors nearest him, hoping to find one unlocked. Although he was capable of fighting now, it would be wisest to avoid detection for as long as possible. Once he had actually taken down a soldier or two, the chances of getting caught would increase, if they were missed right away.  
  
Fortunately, after trying a couple of the doors unsuccessfully, he found one that opened under his hand, and slipped inside moments before a pair of soldiers rounded the corner and walked down the hallway.  
  
“…wouldn’t have thought that she’d have turned out to be so screwed up,” one of them was saying. “I mean, what a complete waste of total hotness, ya know?” He nudged his buddy.  
  
The other soldier laughed, a suggestive, sophomoric chuckle that made Spike want to hit him. “Yeah…well, she’s kind of a freak anyway from what I hear. She’s got like, super-powers or something, man. That’s what some of the guys were saying. Hey, man…maybe she was *one* of them! Ya think?”  
  
By now, Spike was certain that they were talking about Buffy, and he listened closely, but nothing they said seemed useful. He wondered with irritation how the Initiative had gotten this far if this was all they had going for them. Young ignorant wankers with the mentality of drunken frat boys. But he realized immediately, this was *not* all, by a long shot. They had a driven, psychotic leader who happened to be incredibly intelligent to head the thing up, and every evil operation needed muscle. And muscle didn’t have to think, when she could think for them.  
  
*Just give me five bloody minutes with her, and she’ll never think again!* he told himself, waiting for the soldiers to reach the end of the hall and turn the other corner so that he could leave again. This was wasting time.  
  
He glanced around the room, tapping his foot unconsciously, impatient. Suddenly, across the darkened room, he saw a door. From under the door, a light shone out. When he looked at the door, he felt an odd tingling at the back of his neck, and he *knew*.   
  
Slowly, cautiously, he crept across the room to the door, peering through the tiny window. He knew that he was surrounded by darkness and while he could see whoever was in the room, they would not be able to see him.  
  
The sight that met his eyes made him gasp in horror and take a step back. Instantly he recovered his composure, pausing to be sure that his slip had not been heard. There was no sound, so he carefully looked back through the window, feeling his hatred for Cordova rising with every moment that he took in the cruel scene.  
  
There, in the center of the room, lay Buffy. Strapped down to an operating table, she was completely naked, though it would have been impossible to make out any specific part of her body, because she was absolutely covered in her own blood. Even as he watched, Cordova was standing over her, and just removing a wicked-looking blade from a cut she had just made in her side. His fury rose in him as he saw Buffy’s body jerk with pain. But she did not cry out.  
  
His first thought was, *My brave girl,* but then he realized that her mouth was open in a silent scream of pain; something was preventing her from making a sound.  
  
Rage nearly overtook him in that moment, and he was about to rush through the door and teach Cordova a thing or two about screaming, when he saw her take out a two-way radio, an expression of annoyance on her face.  
  
“Yes?” he could faintly hear her say through the door, and the impatience was clear in her voice.  
  
He waited; it would not do to go in while she was talking to someone else; that would be an excellent way to get himself and Buffy, or the others waiting for them outside, caught. If whoever she was talking to got wise to what was going on before they could escape, all would be lost.  
  
As she spoke to the person on the other end of the radio, he watched her sigh, and then go to a door on the other side of the room and walk through it, closing it tightly behind her.  
  
This was his chance. He glanced down at the watch he never wore, only had to track the time for this specific mission. He had only ten minutes.  
  
He hurried through the door and to Buffy’s side.  
  
“Buffy! Buffy, love!” he whispered, and saw her jerk against her restraints at the sound of his voice. She was blindfolded, so he quickly removed it, and flinched at the expression in her eyes. Such stark, raw agony of mind and body that he almost felt it physically himself. Tears filled his eyes, and hers, as he looked at what that monster had done to his girl.  
  
“Shh,” he whispered a gentle warning as he reached for the tight leather strap around her throat. “We need to be quiet, love, and I know anyone would want to scream, but you’ve got to be brave, all right, love?”   
  
She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks as he removed the gag, and the other bonds that held her.   
  
One look had told him that there was no way that she would be walking out of this place, so he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, heedless of the blood that ran down to stain his duster. She clung to him desperately, silently sobbing against his chest, and he was so overcome that he did not move for a moment, just held her.  
  
Just at that moment, the door on the other side of the room opened again and Cordova returned. She dropped the radio she had just turned off in shock at the sight of Hostile 17, holding her “experiment” in his arms – and then in spite of herself her eyes showed just a trace of fear at the cold fury that filled his eyes.  
  
“Just a second, love,” he said to Buffy in a low growl that sent chills up the general’s spine. “Got to make one little stop first.” He went to set her on the table, and was in game face before he turned back around to face the general. He lunged for her, knocking her to the floor under him, before the stunned woman could even reach for her weapon.  
  
Her head hit the base of the operating table hard when she fell, and she was obviously dizzied by the blow, but she still struggled for the pistol at her side. He had been here long enough to know that the gun she carried while at the Initiative did not hold ordinary shells, but rather wood-tipped bullets, specially designed for the uses of the Initiative. He caught her wrist in his hand and snapped it, granting a cruel smile to her scream of pain.  
  
Then he took the weapon from her hand and smashed it across her face – knocking her unconscious.  
  
*Bollocks!* he thought, annoyed. He had been looking forward to enjoying her agony as he killed her for all she had done to him and those he loved. *Oh, well,* he shrugged and leaned in for the killing bite.  
  
Just at that moment, however, he felt an odd little humming sensation in his head, followed by a familiar jolt of pain. An instant later, he heard Willow’s voice in his head, *Spike! Get her out of there, now! They’ve got the chips up again!*  
  
*Uh, yeah, I’m aware of that now, Red, thanks to the soddin’ migraine!* he griped, as the pain passed. After all, he had not actually bitten her yet when the chip turned back on. *A little warning would have been nice!*  
  
*You got as much as I got, Spike,* she grumbled back, her mental voice sounding strained and anxious. *Sounds like more. Have you found her?*  
  
*Yeah, we’re on our way out now,* he replied, scooping the brutalized Slayer up in his arms. As he pushed the door open, he heard the general moan in pain behind him, and knew she was coming back to consciousness.  
  
He thought of the possibilities with a sort of sick feeling. He wondered where the manual controller to his chip was. As he tried to remember the way he had come, tried to force his frantic thoughts to cooperate, he realized that since he had escaped the general must not have been carrying it on her anymore – judging by the lack of excruciating, paralyzing agony that he would have been feeling by this point if she had it on her person.  
  
His sensitive hearing picked up the sound of soldiers’ voices, growing steadily louder behind him; so the general was conscious enough by now to send out the troops, he thought grimly. They had to get out of there, now!  
  
Another thought occurred to him as he wondered again about the manual controller – which Cordova would undoubtedly have in her possession at any moment now.   
  
*Red,* he called again.  
  
*Yeah?*  
  
*Everything still dark upstairs?*  
  
*Yeah, why?*  
  
*I need you and Xander to meet me,* he told her, and explained to her where, at the top of the stairwell he had descended.  
  
*Why?* she demanded, worried suspicion in her tone.  
  
*Just do it, Red,* he snapped back. *I need your help, I can’t outrun these soldiers all the way to the van and carrying her, and I’m not letting them get her back!*  
  
There was a pause before she replied, *Okay, we’ll be there.*  
  
He finally saw the stairwell and felt a partial relief – only partial because they still had a ways to go upstairs to get back to the van. At least no one was on the upper level yet, so they might actually stand a chance.  
  
When Willow saw Buffy, her mouth dropped open in shock and dismay, and her eyes welled with tears as she helped Xander to lift her into his arms.  
  
“Go on,” Spike said, breathing hard. “I’ll meet you back at the mansion.”  
  
“Wait, where are you going?” Willow demanded, alarmed. “You’re coming with us.”  
  
“Can’t yet, Red. There’s a tracking sensor in my chip, remember? And we don’t have enough of a lead on them this time, they’re too close behind us. Cordova’s gonna be able to follow us, and as long as she stays within twenty miles of us, she won’t lose us.”  
  
“Then what are you going to do?” Xander asked softly, and Spike was surprised to see actual concern on his face.  
  
“I’m gonna double back, throw her off the trail, and go out another way, while you get her out of here! I’ll meet you back at the mansion,” he insisted.  
  
Willow shook her head. “Spike…”  
  
*No, Red,* he warned her in his mind, reading the look on her face and not wanting her to go on aloud.  
  
She complied. *If she sets off your chip you won’t be going anywhere. You have to come with us.*  
  
*If I go with you she’ll catch us. You have to get her out of here now.*  
  
*I don’t want to leave you, and she wouldn’t either.*  
  
*I don’t give a bloody damn what she wants, pet. Just get her to safety. Now!* he insisted, and the fire in his eyes was unyielding.  
  
Without another word, she nodded slowly, and turned, pulling Xander toward the exit by the arm, helping him to support Buffy’s weight, as Spike turned and ran the opposite direction, took a turn down a second hallway and disappeared from her sight.  
  
  
He ran through the hallways, looking for another exit, hoping against hope that she had not found the controller yet, that he would somehow be able to outrun them. The fact that he was still not in torturous pain was a good sign, he thought hopefully.  
  
His hopes were dashed around the next corner, when he realized that he had run into a dead end. He turned to go back.  
  
And there she was, not twenty feet away. Her head bleeding from a deep gash in her forehead where it had hit the table, her lip cut from the pistol-whipping he had given her. Smiling. She took a few slow, measured steps toward him.  
  
“Hostile 17,” she smirked. “Welcome back.”  
  
He glanced around hurriedly for some way of escape, saw none, and looked back at her with hate-filled eyes of blue steel.  
  
As he watched she took the manual controller from her pocket, tossing it carelessly in her hand as her smile widened, still advancing on him. She was only a few feet away now.  
  
“I bet you’re wondering why I haven’t set this off yet,” she mused, moving to stand right in his face.  
  
He did not back up, against the wall, as he knew she had expected him to. He thought about attacking, but knew he would only be adding insult to his own injury, when the chip would drop him for the attempt. He steeled himself for whatever she was going to do.  
  
Leaning in even closer, smiling cruelly, she answered her own question.  
  
“I was waiting to see the look on your face.”  
  
And that was the last thing he heard before searing, blinding, vicious agony shot through him, and his knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor, sinking into utter darkness.


	27. Chapter 27

Willow climbed in the side door of the van and helped Xander to gently lower Buffy onto the seat, where she lay with her head in her best friend’s lap as Xander rushed around to the driver’s seat and tore out of the parking lot, leaving the headlights off.  
  
Buffy had slipped into unconsciousness at some point before Spike had reached her friends. Now, she was moaning softly, struggling to open her eyes against the wave of pain that assailed her upon waking.  
  
“S-spike,” she whispered. “Wh-where…” Her voice trailed off.  
  
Willow felt sick. She dreaded telling Buffy what Spike had done. She knew in her heart that if the van would not have been able to outrun Cordova and her men, there was no way that Spike could on foot. And that was not even considering if Cordova fired the chip – which she undoubtedly would. There was little doubt in Willow’s mind that Spike would be captured.  
  
“It’s ok, Buffy. Don’t worry about anything. You’re safe now, just rest,” she said softly to her friend, stroking her blood-stained hair back, avoiding an actual answer to her unfinished question.  
  
Buffy drifted back into unconsciousness, and Willow let her tears slide down her face at last.  
  
From the front seat Xander spoke suddenly, quietly. “He knew.”  
  
“What?” Willow asked, sniffling, wiping tears from her face as she turned to look at him.  
  
“He knew about the tracking device all along. So he had to know that he couldn’t come with us back to the mansion. Before we ever left the mansion in the first place.” There was a sort of awe in Xander’s voice – and more than a little guilt.  
  
Willow hadn’t thought of that; her eyes widened as she considered it. Spike was not stupid; he had known that he was going to have just enough time to get Buffy out and make a run for it before they would be found out and pursued. The thought of the tracking device in his chip could not have just occurred to him in the middle of the rescue. He had to have known all along that he was going to be risking his own freedom to gain Buffy’s.  
  
Her tears flowed harder at the realization of the sacrifice he had made.  
  
When they reached the mansion, they carefully took Buffy inside and laid her gently down on the bed. The pain of movement awakened her again. Her eyes opened wide and she gripped Willow’s arm weakly to whisper again, urgently, “Spike! Where’s Spike?”  
  
Willow could barely bring herself to tell her the truth, and even then had to temper it with hope she knew to be unfounded. “He – he’ll be here soon, Buffy,” she whispered back. “He s-stayed behind to throw them off our trail…but he’s really smart and really fast, and he can take care of himself. He’ll be able to lose them and get back here okay.”  
  
“No,” Buffy moaned softly, turning her head away. “She’s gonna catch him! She’ll kill him! She looked back at Willow with wild, panicked eyes, struggling to rise from the bed. “We have to help him! We have to…”  
  
“You’re not going anywhere just yet,” Xander said firmly, pushing her back down with gentle hands. “We’ve got to get you taken care of. If he’s not back by then…we’ll figure out a way to help him.”  
  
Willow was surprised that there was no protest, no insistence that she not risk herself for Spike again, from Xander. He had a somber, thoughtful expression in his eyes. Spike’s sacrifice for Buffy had obviously made quite an impression on him.  
  
Buffy’s friends set about treating her various injuries the best they could with the bandages and other supplies they had thought to bring from her house. Due to the dangerous nature of Buffy’s calling, and the difficulty of explaining certain injuries to hospital staff, they had become quite good at dealing with injuries of a more serious nature than would typically be treated by first aid.   
  
But this was like nothing they had ever seen before. Cordova had done an unbelievable amount of damage. Several deep incisions in her chest, stomach, and abdomen; a place on her hip where an actual piece of her flesh had been removed, into the muscle of her leg, no doubt a sample for Cordova’s scientists to “research”. Willow felt sick, and a cold, dark rage slowly began to consume her at the thought of what the woman had done to Buffy…and what she would do to Spike, if they didn’t get him out of there.  
  
Because by this point a couple of hours had passed, and there was still no sign of him. By now all hope of his escape had fled Willow’s mind. She was certain that he had been captured. And she was equally certain that this time, there was no way that they could leave him there – not after what he had done for Buffy.  
  
As they waited for Buffy’s accelerated Slayer-healing to kick in, Willow opened her laptop again and began to look further into the general’s database. She was going to find a way to save the one who had given himself up to save Buffy.  
  
  
Pain. That was the first sensation that met him upon waking. His head ached with the remnants of the chip-induced migraine from earlier, and there was a strange tingling sensation coursing through his body – after-effects of the shock, he supposed. He tried to reach a hand to his aching head, and found that he couldn’t.  
  
*Of course not,* he realized with an unwelcome sick feeling in his stomach, as he remembered. Cordova. She had caught him, she had fired the chip. He looked to the side and saw that his wrists were strapped tightly down by his sides, and another strap at his shoulders held him to the table. Attempting to move his legs revealed that they were restrained as well. It was no more than he had expected.  
  
“Oh, good. You’re finally awake,” Cordova’s voice spoke suddenly in the stillness, startling him. He jumped, cursing himself silently for the show of weakness. Unfortunately, Cordova had not missed it, judging by the smirk on her face when it came into view. She stopped, standing just at the head of the table, just barely within his vision. “I’d been waiting to talk to you.” Her tone was almost pleasant, conversational.  
  
He glared at her, contempt in his eyes before he looked away without responding. Ignoring her.  
  
Suddenly a blinding, white-hot pain shot through his head again, and his body convulsed against the restraints. He managed to bite back his scream of agony; he was determined not to give her the satisfaction. She released the button after only a few seconds, as she did not want him completely incapacitated just yet, and reached with one hand to turn his head to face her.   
  
She was smiling cruelly. “That wasn’t very polite,” she said in a chillingly soft voice, shaking her head a little in reproof. “Let’s try to keep this civil, shall we?”  
  
He did not respond. But he did not turn away again, either. He met her eyes with fierce hatred in his own.  
  
“Let’s establish some ground rules, Hostile,” she said quietly, her eyes becoming hard at his continued defiance. “Since you seem to have forgotten the way things work around here. You do not speak unless spoken to…but when I speak to you, you *will* respond. Do you understand?”  
  
Spike hesitated, loathe to submit to her. But he couldn’t see how refusing such a simple command would be of any benefit to him. It would gain him no ground, and only bring about intense pain. “Yes,” he whispered, looking away from her.  
  
She smiled. “Good. Now we can get started.” She paused, walking a little further into the room, turning her back to him at a small table beside the bed which he had not noticed before. He heard a metallic sound as she did something with the objects on the table, still outside his range of vision, as she continued in a soft, even voice, “I’m very impressed, Hostile. You managed to break into the locked facility, and somehow get the Slayer out, despite all our security measures.” She turned to face him with a smirk. “I’m very, very interested in how.”  
  
He felt a cold, sinking feeling as he realized what this was really about, what it was that she wanted. She was expecting to get information from him.  
  
Information that he would die before he would give her.  
  
“You obviously didn’t do it alone. The girl couldn’t even walk, let alone make it out the doors alone. And yet she is gone. And here you are.” The falsely pleasant tone vanished as she asked coldly, all business now, “Who helped you?”  
  
Deliberately, taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the inevitable pain, he turned his face away again.  
  
“Not very smart, hostile,” she said in a quietly warning tone. “I’ll give you that one time. Once more, and I’ll start to get upset. Who helped you?”  
  
“You might as well dust me now,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his eyes closed in preparation for what he knew her response would be. “Because I’m not telling you anything.”  
  
“That’s what I hoped you’d say.” Though he couldn’t see her, he could hear the smile in her voice, an instant before the chip fired again.  
  
He gasped in shock at the absolute agony of it. This was every bit as bad as that time in the van, when they had escaped. Intense, searing pain that seemed to consume every part of him, ripping through every inch of his body with brutal force. After a full minute, she released the button, leaning in close to his trembling form.  
  
“On a scale of one to ten, Hostile, how high would you say that shock rated?” she asked with clinical interest, although he was still utterly incapable of answering.  
  
She went on, her voice hardening, “As far as the range of how far the chip will actually go…that was about a three.” She leaned in closer, her voice quiet and deadly as she went on, “I’ll ask you again…and next time the chip fires it will be double the power of this time. Do you understand?”  
  
He could not completely hide his fear, his façade ragged and battered through the pain still coursing through his body. He nodded shakily.  
  
She smiled, pleased – and oddly disappointed. It had taken less to break Hostile 17 than she had expected.  
  
“Who helped you?” she asked again.  
  
He drew a deep, ragged breath in preparation to speak, and then whispered his response.  
  
“Go to hell.”  
  
Cold fury filled her eyes, and a vindictive smirk crossed her lips as she turned the dial up on the controller and pressed the button, holding it down for what felt like an eternity to her pain-ravaged captive. He had thought that the pain could not possibly get any worse than the last time.  
  
He had been wrong.  
  
It felt like being burned alive, a fierce heat flowing through him, consuming him until all their was, was pain. He could not hold back a cry of agony as he pulled reflexively against his bonds, desperate to somehow make it stop.  
  
Finally, after an interminably long time, which in reality was only a minute, she released the button. She waited patiently for the pain to subside enough for him to be able to hear her. She reached a hand to casually touch his arm, and though his bonds prevented him from actually pulling away from her, he jerked in pain. Every nerve ending in his body was on fire, and even the slightest touch was agony at that moment.  
  
She smiled, tightening her hold as she leaned in to whisper mockingly, close to his ear. “Not sure I want to ‘go to hell’, Hostile. Tell me…what’s it like?”  
  
He gasped for breath, struggling to speak for a moment. She waited, a patronizingly patient smile on her face, until he was finally able. She leaned close to make out his words, barely a whisper in the otherwise silent room.  
  
“Someday I’ll show you…bitch.”  
  
Her eyes flashed with flames of rage, and she fired the chip again. But it was simply too much for his body to take, so soon after the last savage torture, and in a matter of seconds he was unconscious again.  
  
“Damn,” she muttered, irritated that her interrogation would have to wait. “Sleep well, Hostile,” she sneered. “You’re gonna need it. We’re not through talking yet. Not by a long shot!”


	28. Chapter 28

Willow was so intent on the computer screen in front of her that she let out a little cry and jumped, startled by the soft touch on her shoulder. Whirling around, her eyes widened in stunned surprise at the sight of the person who had startled her out of her focus.  
  
“Buffy!” she gasped. “What are you doing up?”  
  
They had returned to the mansion at just after midnight. Now, the first rays of dawn were peeking through the drawn shades on the windows, and Willow had no thought of stopping her work. Not until she had found the solution.  
  
Buffy didn’t answer her question, but Willow could not miss her labored breathing, and the way she was leaning on the back of Willow’s chair to support herself.  
  
“What happened?” Buffy demanded, fiery green eyes meeting hers and insisting on nothing less than the full truth.  
  
“He – he gave himself up for you, Buffy,” Willow said softly, her eyes not faltering from her friend’s intent gaze. “He knew that if he came with us she’d track us here…so he went another way and tried to get away…but…but he had to have known he couldn’t.”  
  
Buffy was silent for a moment, a stony expression on her face which was obviously – at least to Willow – an attempt to cover what she was feeling. “We’ve got to go back,” she said at last. “We’re going to go back, and we’re going to rescue him – and then I’m going to slap him around for a while and stake his stupid butt for doing such an idiotic thing!”  
  
Willow almost smiled at Buffy’s plan of action, but held it back because of the look in her friend’s eyes. Those fierce, hard eyes were brimming with tears, and her lower lip was trembling just slightly as she fought to hold them back. Willow glanced down, and noticed with alarm that Buffy’s hand on the back of the chair was shaking violently, and she did not think that it was only with emotion.  
  
“Buffy,” Willow said softly, standing to move behind the chair and help support her. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere yet. You couldn’t help him – not like this.”  
  
Buffy’s tears spilled over at that, in frustration and fear. “I have to, Will! I can’t let him stay there! I can’t let her do the things to him that she – I can’t – I…” Her voice trailed off as the tears overcame her.  
  
“Buffy – you just can’t – not yet.” Willow’s voice was gentle as she sought her friend’s eyes earnestly.   
  
“Then what am I supposed to do?” Buffy’s voice came out in a desperate whisper. “I can’t just sit here while she tortures him and kills him. I can’t!”  
  
“I’ve been working on a way to help him, Buffy,” Willow said, a hopeful note in her voice as she carefully helped Buffy to sit down in the chair beside hers. “I’ve been looking through Cordova’s main database, and you wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I’ve found! I – I think I’ve found the way to get them shut down for good!”  
  
Buffy looked surprised. “Tell me,” she nodded, a grim satisfaction in her eyes. At least something was going right.  
  
“Well, here it is. The Initiative is like, kind of under suspicion by the government, even though they’re funding it and all, because of the last time and everything that happened. Spike was right. This whole vamp army thing Cordova is doing is all her. The government doesn’t really know anything about it. And according to her notes, she’s pretty desperate to keep it that way.”  
  
“Why is she even doing it?” Buffy wanted to know, a growing anger in her eyes toward the evil, sadistic monster who was as they spoke torturing the man she loved.  
  
“Well…from what I can tell,” Willow drew a deep breath before she went on, “it seems like some kind of…arms deal. Like, she’s – she’s planning on turning these vampires into the ultimate weapons of mass destruction – and selling them off to the highest bidder.”  
  
Despite all she had learned about Cordova’s nature, that shocked Buffy. “Then – she’s a traitor?”  
  
“At least willing to be,” Willow shrugged. “From what I read, she doesn’t seem to care who she sells them to – or who she sells out. She’s just all about wealth and power.”  
  
“Well, that explains why,” Buffy mused, frowning. “But you said we could stop her…how?”  
  
“Since the Initiative is still on I guess you might call it probation,” Willow went on. “the government has safeguards in place…to prevent anything happening like last time, when all those people got killed when the demons escaped?”  
  
Buffy nodded her remembrance.  
  
“So…the whole place is equipped with a – a panic button so to speak. If at any point someone with enough clearance to have access to it thinks that things seem to be out of control, the entire place can be locked down completely. No one getting in or out. At the same time, a signal is sent to the authorities in Washington letting them know that the panic button’s been set off. So they send a special force down to check it out,” Willow explained, slowly so that it was all clear.  
  
Buffy was nodding in understanding. “And they find her vampire army, and her records about it. And the Initiative is shut down, and Cordova rots in prison.” She paused, glaring at the wall, obviously imagining the general there. “Which is way too easy a punishment for her,” she muttered with hatred in her tone. She paused to digest what Willow had just told her, before going on, “So if we can set off the panic button….”  
  
“We can shut down the Initiative,” Willow nodded.  
  
“But that doesn’t help Spike,” Buffy pointed out, her voice low and grim. “We have to get him out of there.”  
  
Willow took another deep breath, and looked away for a moment.  
  
“What?” Buffy demanded. It was clear that there was something her friend had not told her yet.  
  
Willow looked back at her, determination, and some other unknown emotion in her eyes. “I think I’ve found a way.”  
  
“What is it? Anything, Will! We’ve got to get him out of there before she kills him!” Buffy insisted.  
  
“I’ve found the control to shut down the chips. Scramble the signals so well that the back-ups will be useless. The chips would be shut down for good,” Willow explained, her voice low and carefully expressionless. “All the chips,” she added quietly.  
  
Buffy was silent as she took that in. “Once we set off the panic button…the facility is locked down. Right? No vamps getting out until the special unit gets there.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
Buffy thought for a moment longer. She put her hands over her eyes and rested her elbows on the table, letting out a heavy sigh.  
  
“I – I know about you and Spike, Buffy,” Willow admitted softly, placing a gentle hand on Buffy’s shoulder.   
  
The Slayer looked up in alarm.  
  
“And I think it’s fine,” Willow hurried to assure her. “But the thing is…if he doesn’t have a chip anymore…there’s no controlling what he might do…you could end up…having to…” She stopped there; Buffy knew exactly where she was going.  
  
Buffy looked at her for a moment, confusion and indecision in her eyes. She put her head in her hands again, thinking. And suddenly, all she could think about was that last afternoon she had spent with Spike, before Cordova had taken her captive.  
  
His promise, his devotion to her had meant so much, as he had stood there and asked her simply to serve as a conscience for a creature who supposedly had none, yet still had a desire to be “good”, if only to please her, to deserve her. She had known in that moment that it was a responsibility that she desired to take on, that he was capable of doing the right thing, with the proper guidance and motivation.  
  
She knew now what she had to do.  
  
She looked up at Willow with a firm decision in her eyes. “Shutting down the chips completely…will it hurt him?” she asked.  
  
Willow shook her head.  
  
“Do it,” Buffy said immediately. “Shut them down, Will.”  
  
Willow looked back at her with a serious, uncertain expression. “You’re sure,” she asked. She had known in her heart that this was the choice Buffy would make, and felt that if it had been her decision, she would have done the same. But she did not want Buffy to do something now, acting on emotions, that she would regret later.  
  
Buffy nodded. “Completely.” She looked away across the table, and at last the corners of her mouth turned up in the ghost of a smile. “He doesn’t need a chip,” she informed her friend. “He’s got me.”  
  
Spike had been awake again for several hours now, and Cordova had wasted no time in getting back to their “conversation”. This time, however, she had been careful, inflicting just as much pain as she possibly could without driving her prisoner to unconsciousness.   
  
She had been interrogating him for hours. She had started off by firing the chip again, and then went on to try several of the little “toys” on the table at his bedside, eventually returning to the chip again. His body was a mess of various cuts, bruises, and odd burns from the incredibly brutal amount of electricity she had sent coursing through him, but still he would not tell her anything.  
  
“Where did they take her?” she demanded yet again, leaning over the shaking, agonized creature, bound helplessly to the table in front of her.  
  
He swallowed hard, his body tensing further in anticipation of punishment, but still not uttering a sound.  
  
“You know,” she said softly. “I think you’ve gotten too used to the shocks. They don’t seem to be having much of an effect anymore. Maybe…a little break?” she suggested mildly, as if they were simply having a casual conversation.  
  
She walked to the chair placed near the foot of his bed, over which she had hung his coat when she had brought him to this room. He had received the same treatment as Buffy, and had not been allowed the slightest remnant of dignity or protection, being stripped completely before he was bound to the table.  
  
He watched with growing apprehension as she reached absently into the pocket of his coat, and took out his cigarettes and lighter. “Hmm,” she observed with pleasant surprise in her voice. “My brand.” She flashed him a wicked smile that sent a chill of fear down his spine, before lighting up one of his cigarettes.  
  
She took a long, slow drag as she walked slowly back to his side, flicking some ashes onto the floor as she reached him.  
  
“*I* feel better,” she smiled coolly, leaning down close to him. “Shall we try again?”  
  
He looked away, sure that this time his fear would show in his eyes. She was right. He had begun to prepare himself for the shocks before they hit. Something – anything – different would probably be much more “effective” at this point.   
  
And what he was certain by now that she had in mind was extremely painful, moreso to him than it would have been to a human. Fire was one of the few weaknesses his kind was cursed with, and he fought with the very natural fear that threatened to overtake him.  
  
Her smile hardened as she suddenly reached out one hand to fist in his damp, disheveled blonde curls. With the chip’s prevention of even the slightest resistance, he could not move his head at all, as her other hand brought the cigarette it held within inches of his face.  
  
He was breathing hard by now, choking back his own rising panic, as she asked softly, “One more time, Hostile. Where is she?”  
  
He would gladly suffer death before he would ever betray Buffy; he bit down on the inside of his lip, steeling himself for the pain, determining that no matter what she did, he *would not* tell her.  
  
The general shook her head in mild amazement, laughing softly at the strength of his will. “You’re far too stubborn for your own good, Hostile,” she smirked, as she pressed the burning tip of the cigarette to his cheek, her smile widening when he jerked in pain and let out a little cry, quite against his own will.  
  
She held the thing there for several seconds, leaving it against his skin, dragging it slowly downward toward his mouth as she asked again, “Where, Hostile?”  
  
He shook his head slightly, as much as he could, his eyes tightly closed, his mouth set in determination in spite of the pain. It didn’t matter what she did; she could hold the bloody thing to his flesh until he ignited and burned to death. He would not betray the woman he loved.  
  
Willow gasped and let out a pained little cry, holding her head as she doubled over in agony.  
  
“Will! Willow stop!” Buffy urgently called, through what sounded to Willow like a dense fog. Gripping her shoulders, Buffy shook her gently, insisting, “Come on, Will, come back!”  
  
With an intense mental effort and force of her will, Willow wrenched herself out of the trance-like state she had gone into moments before. She had been attempting to use the mental connection she had made earlier to contact Spike, to tell him about their plan.  
  
Her wide, panicked eyes met Buffy’s and she gasped, “Oh, God, Buffy! We have to get him out of there, *now*!”  
  
“He’s in a lot of pain, isn’t he?” Buffy realized, her voice low with fear and rage. “She’s hurting him.”  
  
Willow nodded. “I felt it. I felt it just like it was me and not him. Oh, God, Buffy…we’ve got to just go ahead and do it.”  
  
“He has to know we’re doing it, or it might not do him any good,” Buffy pointed out.  
  
“I – I can try again in a little while,” Willow reluctantly nodded. “I mean – that was – that was really intense, Buffy. It was awful. But the chips are going down, whether he knows it or not. Now.”


	29. Chapter 29

Willow’s fingers flew across the keyboard, her gaze intent as she located the controls she needed to shut down the Initiative’s systems.  
  
“Ok,” Buffy said, really thinking out loud. “So we shut down the chips. Then we try again to contact Spike and tell him what’s going on.”  
  
Willow grimaced slightly as she looked up at her friend. “And hope he’s still capable of fighting his way out of there.”  
  
“We’ll know when we talk to him,” Buffy replied quietly, her expression calm and serious, but her eyes frightened. “As soon as we know for sure that he’s out of there -- *not* before…” she said firmly. “we hit the panic button and lock the place down.”  
  
Sitting listening as the girls discussed the plan they had come up with while he was busy with Spike’s children, Xander hated to bring up the very real possibility that he knew had to be filling Buffy’s thoughts already, but they had to think about it.   
  
“What if he’s *not* able to fight his way out? What if she’s hurt him bad enough…” His voice trailed off.  
  
Buffy’s eyes flashed with barely controlled fury as she met his eyes. “Then we go in. We find them…and I take the bitch down.”  
  
The pure hatred and malice in her tone sent a chill down his spine. He shuddered to think of being on the receiving end of her rage. “Um, Buffy?” he said, only half joking. “All the ‘I hate Spike’ crap I’ve been spouting lately? Just. Kidding. Ok?”  
  
That brought a half-smile to the Slayer’s lips. “Seriously,” she sighed. “That woman better hope that he can get out on his own, because if I ever see her again, she’s dead. I swear, I’ll kill her.”  
  
“Buffy,” Xander said softly, seeking out her eyes with his own soft brown ones. “Really. I’m sorry about everything these past few weeks. I’ve been kind of – kind of…”  
  
“Stupid?”   
  
“A jerk?”  
  
Buffy and Willow spoke at the same time, then cracked up in spite of the seriousness of the situation at Xander’s outraged face. Then he smiled sheepishly and said, “Um, all of the above. I thought he was playing you…just using you to get out…but after what he did for you…” His voice trailed off, as he looked away, shaking his head slightly.  
  
“I know,” Buffy whispered. “I can’t believe he did it.” Her tone changed as she assured them, “And I’m still gonna kick his butt for doing it.” Yet again her voice changed, growing soft, as she added, “But not until he’s safe.” She looked to Willow with a purposeful determination.  
  
“It’s time, Will. Shut the chips down.”  
  
Spike tried to think about Buffy, safe in the mansion and healing now, he was sure. And Diana, and Darian, safe as well thanks to her efforts. He tried to focus on anything that would help to strengthen his resolve against the agony Cordova was still inflicting on his ravaged body.  
  
It was impossible.  
  
She had grown bored with the cigarette when it had proven to be useless, not eliciting the response she desired. Well, she rather enjoyed the muffled cries of pain that he struggled to hold back, but simply couldn’t. But the lack of any actual verbal response from the trembling, gasping blonde vampire on the table– answers to her questions, or begging for mercy would have kept it interesting; she wasn’t choosy – made her tire of that particular game.  
  
Still, the soft moans that nothing else so far had managed to bring about were encouraging to her. So she graduated from the cigarette to the lighter itself.  
  
“Nice,” she smiled appreciatively at it, flicking it a couple of times near his face, gratified when he flinched away from her hand, his startlingly blue eyes wide with fear that he was no longer able to even attempt to hide.  
  
“You know,” she said softly, crouching down so that her face was inches from his, one deceptively gentle hand running through his hair in a mockery of comfort that nevertheless made him feel like crying. “This doesn’t have to be so hard, Hostile. All you have to do is tell me where she is. Please,” she sneered, her voice still gentle, almost sympathetic. “Like she even cares. All that time you were here…she never tried to get you out. Never even looked for you. For a whole year. And now you’d go through so much to protect her!”  
  
Suddenly, her fingers in his hair hardened painfully, tightening her grip as she continued close to his ear in that same soft voice, “Tell me where she is.”  
  
He let out a shaky breath that turned into a derisive laugh. “Yeah. And that’ll make it so much easier on me, won’t it?” he whispered, his voice weak but still mocking. “Instead of torturing me for information, once you get what you want, you’ll just do it for bloody kicks. I’ve spent a year getting to know you, you bloody bitch! Don’t think I won’t see through you now! I tell you what you want to know…and you kill me. That’s the way this little game is played, innit, love?”  
  
A cruel smile coming over her lips, but a vicious rage in her eyes, she stood up straight. “I’ll show you how the game is played, Hostile,” she retorted.  
  
And with a quick motion she held the open flame from the lighter against his bare stomach. Because of the way she had begun by menacing him with the lighter, he had expected it to be his face. The searing intensity of the flame against his tender, already bruised flesh caught him by surprise, and he released an anguished moan of agony.  
  
She smiled with pleasure and held it there a moment longer before finally removing it. She leaned close again to whisper in a conspiriatorial voice, “I think I’m winning, Hostile. What do you think?”  
  
“Is it working? Are they down yet?” Buffy asked impatiently, bouncing up and down on her heels as she anxiously watched over Willow’s shoulder.  
  
“Almost,” Willow muttered, focused on what she was doing. “Just…one…second…”  
  
With a final click of her mouse, she sat back with a satisfied, if tentative smile on her face. “That’s it. Chips should be down now.”  
  
Buffy frowned anxiously, though the news was good. She was not used to having to sit by the sidelines and wait, not having any control over the outcome. She wanted to rush in, metaphorical guns blazing, and rescue him. But reality told her that if she tried she would be more likely to just get both of them killed, in the condition she was in.  
  
So as Willow stepped away from the computer and sat down cross-legged on the floor, attempting once again to contact Spike, all she could do was stand there and wait.  
  
It was up to Spike now.  
  
He shuddered and gasped for breath in sheer agony as her brutal torture continued. He could tell by the sadistic glee in her eyes that she knew she had finally hit on something that could get to him. But, how could she help knowing? His back arched in agony and he strained uselessly against his bonds, using up every effort his body had left on just. Not. Screaming.  
  
An evil smile came over her face as she removed the lighter from what was quite possibly the last unburned place that had been left on his battered abdomen. “I think I’m through playing, Hostile,” she said in a chillingly quiet, malicious tone. “Time to get serious.”  
  
And she slowly, deliberately, lowered her hand which held the lighter, making sure that he saw exactly what she was doing. “Are you ready to talk?”  
  
Panic seized him. *No! No! No!* he screamed on the inside, for the first time actually struggling with the impulse to cry out, “Yes! I’ll talk! Just *don’t*! Don’t do *that*!”  
  
Reacting instinctively in defensive panic, as her hand edged closer, he used what little leverage he had to bring his knee up against her arm sharply, knocking the lighter from her hand.  
  
“Shit!” she hissed, as in fumbling to keep her hold on the lighter she managed to burn her hand on it before it fell to the floor. Her eyes shot daggers at him as she moved to the head of the table to deliver a hard backhand slap across his face. “You little idiot! You’re gonna pay for that!” she promised, bending down to find the lighter on the floor where she had dropped it.  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind Spike knew that now, now he was really in for it. Now it wouldn’t matter if he told her everything, he was going to die in agony at her hand. But those thoughts took a backseat to the startling realization he had just had.  
  
He had hurt her. He had knocked her arm back with his knee. That was resistance. And he had caused her to burn herself on the lighter. He had hurt her.  
  
And he had felt no pain.  
  
His eyes widened with a growing hope. Could it really be true? *Red!* he thought wildly. Had the little witch shut down his chip again? She must have. Otherwise he would have felt at least a little pain upon resisting his captor.  
  
His mind raced wildly with the possibilities, options as to how to use this fact to his advantage. The tight bonds that held him, the painful wounds which weakened him, were discouraging. Being suddenly chip-less was meaningless if he couldn’t move to fight back.  
  
A vindictive smirk on her face, Cordova rose with the lighter in hand and moved toward him again, bringing the flame quickly closer to his vulnerable, exposed body.  
  
“Wait!” he gasped suddenly. “Wait, please!”  
  
Her hand froze inches from contact, as she looked up at his face in amazement. Could it be? Had she actually finally broken his resistance?  
  
“Wait for what, Hostile?” she asked coldly, quietly, not moving the lighter any closer, but not taking it away either.  
  
He could feel the heat from the lighter on his skin, though the flame did not touch him. *Bloody hell! God, I hope this works!* he thought desperately, knowing that if it didn’t, if it was somehow a fluke and his chip was still functional, he was going to end up breaking down and begging her to kill him before she would finish venting her rage over what he was about to do.  
  
“I – I’ll tell you…I’ll tell you where she is…just…just please don’t,” he whispered weakly.  
  
A slow smile crept across her lips. Just because she enjoyed the feeling of power his submission gave her, she edged the flame just slightly closer to him, her eyes hardening, relishing his (very genuine) gasp of terror at the intensifying heat.  
  
“I’m listening,” she said softly.  
  
He launched into a rambling, very confusing description of the route to the mansion, which also happened to be absolutely false, secretly smiling at the growing confusion on her face.  
  
“Ok, start again,” she said, frowning slightly. “Where exactly is this place?”  
  
He sighed as if wearied by the effort, and said timidly, cautiously, “Maybe – maybe I’d better – show you? It – it might be easier.”  
  
Suspicion appeared in her dark eyes, and he cringed as the lighter moved even closer to him. “What are you playing at, Hostile?” she asked coldly.  
  
A chill went down his spine and he swallowed back a sick wave of fear at the realization that he was terrifyingly close to being found out. “N-nothing!” he insisted, and the trembling fear in his voice was not difficult. “I swear it! I just – I just don’t know if you could find it, and – and I wouldn’t want you to try and – and think I was lying when you couldn’t find it.”  
  
She smiled. What could he do to her, anyway? It wasn’t like he could actually escape, or do anything to harm her. If he tried to run, she would drop him with the chip before he made it two steps. It couldn’t hurt to let him try to do as he offered. And if he turned out to be lying to her, trying to put one over on her, she could always pay him back for it later. Her smile widened in pleasure at the thought.  
  
“All right,” she relented, finally closing the lighter and putting it in her pocket. “But you’d better be telling me the truth, Hostile. If you’re lying, I’ll be most displeased.”  
  
He shuddered with a combination of the chill her words provoked, and utter relief at the removal of the lighter.  
  
“I’m glad to see you’ve finally come to see reason,” she smirked as she went to untie the bonds at his ankles.  
  
He turned his head away, in what appeared to be shame and defeat at his inability to hold out against her. That was why, when she moved to the head of the table to untie his wrists, she missed the secret, sly smile that crossed his perfect lips.  
  
As he felt the restraints that had tormented him for hours suddenly loosed, he held back an evil chuckle as he thought to himself,  
  
*Welcome to hell, bitch.*


	30. Chapter 30

He cautiously, almost imperceptibly, stretched the muscles in his arms as he slowly sat up, not giving away anything just yet.  
  
The satisfied smile he forgot for a moment to hide irritated her. If he was just doing this to get the bonds off for a little while… Time to remind him that he had no reason to smile, she thought. She moved in behind him, putting one arm around his neck to jerk him backward against her, opening the lighter again and holding it in his face.  
  
“Did I say you could move?” she snarled.  
  
If he had still been chipped, the intimidating gesture might have been more effective. After all, she thought that she had already broken his resistance.  
  
She was wrong.  
  
“Did I ask for your permission?” he shot back in a low, menacing voice…just before his fist shot up and backward into her face, easily breaking her hold on him as she staggered backward into the wall.  
  
In a flash he was off the table and advancing on her. Even covered in the blood and bruises from her beating – or perhaps moreso *because* of that – he was terrifying as he slowly stalked toward her, his satisfied smile now a cold smirk, and a murderous rage in his icy blue eyes.  
  
“Hmm,” he mused, frowning slightly before the smile took over his face again. “Aren’t I supposed to be doubled over in pain about now? You know, what with clocking you and all? I wonder what’s the problem?”  
  
Her eyes widened in fear as the truth hit her; somehow, the chip had stopped working again. She reached for the gun at her belt, but his strong hand quickly caught her already injured wrist, twisting it hard, eliciting a cry of pain from her.  
  
“You know,” he said softly, his face inches from hers again, but this time he was the one doing the intimidating, as he reached with his other hand to take the gun from its holster. “you really ought to learn some new tricks, pet. Don’t you remember what happened the last time you pulled a gun on me?”  
  
And then just in case she had forgotten, he reminded her by once again drawing back the hand that held the gun and smashing it across her face, hard, sending her crumpling to the floor, unconscious.  
  
He stared down at her for a moment, his eyes almost glowing with fury and bloodlust. This woman had single-handedly caused so much suffering to him and all those he cared about – Diana and his other children, Buffy – and now he had the opportunity to make her pay for all she had done. And that was what he desperately wanted to do – to make her suffer for the agony of the past hours, bloody hell, the past year!  
  
Another part of him, a reasonable part unaffected by his intense emotions, told him that the wise thing would be to simply get the bloody hell out of there before anything else could go wrong. He had no idea how long it would be before the chip starting working again.  
  
It was a very small, very quiet part of him. He barely even heard it.  
  
*Spike?* he suddenly heard Willow’s voice in his head. *Spike the chip’s down, it’s down for good! Can you hear me? Spike!*  
  
He started to reply, but then hesitated, as his eyes widened and his mouth opened partially in surprise at her words. So the chip would not be coming back up in a few minutes, after all. A slow smile began to play about his lips.  
  
*Spike! Spike, are you ok? Can you hear me?* Willow’s urgent voice spoke in his head.  
  
*Yeah,* he finally replied, still staring speculatively through hate-filled eyes at the still figure on the floor in front of him.  
  
*Oh, thank God!* He could hear the obvious relief in her words, and it was oddly warming to him. *We thought maybe – never mind that, are you all right?*  
  
*Been a sight better, pet,* he admitted.  
  
*Are you able to get out of there on your own?* she asked with concern in her mental voice. *Cause if you’re not we’ll come get you, but – but Buffy’s really not up to it yet. And you need to get out as fast as possible – we’re gonna lock the place down the minute you’re out.*  
  
*Tell the Slayer to stay put,* he told her. *I can get out all right, as long as this chip doesn’t start working again.*  
  
*It won’t,* Willow assured him. *Hurry, Spike!*  
  
He was silent for a moment before responding slowly, *Give us a minute, pet.* He paused. *Got some business to attend to, and then I’ll be along.*  
  
*What do you mean, business?* she asked. *Where’s Cordova? What are you gonna…*  
  
*Can’t talk now, love,* he broke in, as he leaned down to take the unconscious woman under the arms and pull her up onto the table, wincing at the pain as the motion tore at the many wounds covering his ravaged body. *Gotta run. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m out.*  
  
*But – Spike, wait--* Willow insisted.  
  
With sheer force of his will, stronger than ever after the work-out it had just received, he shut her anxious voice out of his mind.  
  
He knew she would be worried, and that meant that Buffy would worry as well, but it simply couldn’t be helped. He knew that if they had any idea what he was about to do, they would try to talk him out of it, or even stop him. He was given a moment’s uncertainty at the thought of what Buffy would think – what she would want him to do.  
  
“Sorry, love,” he murmured aloud. “But she’s had this coming. I *am* still a soddin’ vampire…can’t expect bloody miracles...”  
  
Willow looked up at Buffy with worried eyes. “He cut me off,” she said quietly. “On purpose.”  
  
Buffy frowned. “He’s okay?”  
  
“I guess so. He said he was, and he didn’t seem to think he’d have much trouble getting out. He just said – he has some business he had to take care of,” Willow said cautiously.  
  
“Cordova,” Buffy immediately knew.  
  
“He’s going to kill her,” Willow realized, her eyes widening.  
  
Buffy looked at her with an odd expression, a look that was both troubled and triumphant, as she replied softly, “Can you blame him?”  
  
Willow looked away, and said nothing for a moment. Then she slowly shook her head.  
  
Cordova woke up with a splitting headache – which only grew worse when she opened her eyes and saw the situation she was in. She was unable to move, strapped tightly to the very table on which she had savagely tortured her victim earlier – the same victim who now stood across the room with his back to her – patiently waiting.  
  
His keen vampire hearing picked up the soft sound of her stirring, and he turned to face her. The black coat she had stripped him of was now back in place, and a lit cigarette hung casually between his lips. He smiled. “Oh, good,” he said in a mockery of her earlier words. “You’re awake.”  
  
His face was in its human form, but nothing could have been more frightening than that cold, vicious smile.  
  
“You’re making a very serious mistake, Hostile,” she said, a slight tremor on the end of her words, and to her credit, her fear well-masked by the anger in her eyes. “As soon as my men realize what’s happened – you’ll be caught. And if you think you’ve suffered already…”  
  
“You know,” he broke in almost jovially, still smiling as he stifled the rest of her sentence with a hand over her mouth. “I think I’m finally read to do a little talking. And you, love,” he continued, lowering his voice and leaning into her face, cold glittering blue eyes locked onto hers, “are going to shut your pretty little mouth and listen. Isn’t that right?” The deadly quality in his voice chilled her blood.  
  
Despite her best intentions to not give in to his intimidation, she quickly nodded.  
  
“Good girl,” he replied, satisfied, removing his hand from her mouth.  
  
“It’s not too late,” she immediately, urgently told him. “If you untie me now, I’ll see that…”  
  
Her words were cut off again, this time by a hard slap across her face as he snarled, “Enough! I’ve heard enough out of you the last year to last the rest of my life!” His voice calmer, he added with an ironic smile, “You’re not to speak another bloody word unless spoken to. Is that clear?”  
  
Reluctantly, realizing that she had no choice, Cordova silently nodded.  
  
“You wanted me to talk,” he reminded her with a smile. “So listen.”  
  
“First of all,” he informed her. “’Your men’ won’t be catching me. While you were sleeping, I took a little stroll through the building. They’ve all gone home. It’s very, very late, you know. Just you and me here, pet. No one to interrupt us.” He paused to allow that to sink in.  
  
“You asked me earlier,” he said, his voice softer as he drew close to her again, “what hell felt like.” He smiled coldly into her eyes. “As to the particular brand of hell you’ve put me through for the past year – unfortunately as I don’t know how to perform brain surgery, you’ll never be able to comprehend what that’s like.” He shook his head sadly as he reached into his pocket, taking out the lighter he had retrieved. He flicked it open and gazed into the flame as he went on, “As to the fire and brimstone part, though, love – I think I might be able to manage that.” He looked at her again, vengeance raging in his eyes.  
  
“I told you,” she spoke quickly in a tremulous voice, her eyes wide with rising fear. “If you do this they *will* catch you! No matter what you do to me, they’ll kill you for this!”  
  
“And I told you,” he began softly, his voice rising with each word until the last few were a roar, “to *shut up*!”  
  
She flinched back against the table at the sheer hatred and uncontrolled rage in his voice.  
  
“You still don’t think there’s anything wrong with what *you’ve* done, do you?” He shook his head in amazement. “To you, we’re just monsters, so it’s ok to do whatever you want with us. Well, you know what I think of when I think of monsters, love?” he asked. “You.”  
  
“How do you think it feels?” he demanded, his voice quiet, but full of deep emotion. “Thousands of volts of electricity shooting through your body any time you make a move to defend yourself, to resist in any way at all? How do you think it feels to be utterly helpless, powerless to control anything around you?”   
  
He paused, laughing softly. “Well, the helpless part you’re probably starting to get right about now…” His voice lowered to a whisper as he drew steadily closer to her, until by the end he was whispering into her ear. “…knowing that I can do absolutely…anything… I…want…and there’s *nothing* you can do…to stop me.”  
  
He could hear her heart pounding with terror, felt the little skip in its rhythm as his hand came to rest on her hip.  
  
“How do you think Diana felt, love?” he went on in a hushed, intimate tone. “When your favorite, Lieutenant High-and-Mighty Finn, would come to her room? Knowing she had no choice? Whatever he wanted, he was going to *take*!” He emphasized his point by tightening his fingers on her hip, and smiled slightly at the sharp little intake of breath she made that was almost a whimper.  
  
He maintained his menacing stance for a few moments, relishing the frantic throbbing of her heartbeat, before slowly backing off, removing his hand from her hip.  
  
“Lucky for you,” he muttered, taking out a new cigarette, “I may be a monster...but I’m more man than he ever was.”  
  
He took a couple of drags on the cigarette before going on, “I was talking to a friend recently – about good and evil.” He smiled thoughtfully. “About how it’s what you do, not what you are, that makes you a good or bad person. Now you,” he said with a gesture of his hand toward her, pausing to take another drag, “Undoubtedly evil. You don’t just cause pain when you have to to get what you want – you bloody get off on it!” His eyes were full of disgust as he glared at her. “The way I figure, you bloody well deserve whatever happens to you from here on out.”  
  
“Like you don’t!” she snarled, defensive fear in her voice. “Please! I know your history, Hostile 17! William the Bloody, scourge of Europe! How dare you condemn *me* after all you’ve done?” she demanded.  
  
He frowned thoughtfully, pointing a finger at her and nodding, “Good point. The thing is, pet – things look a little different once you’re on the other end of the stick…don’t they?” He smiled. “You might say you’ve helped me to see the light, love. To see the error of my ways.” His tone was mocking.   
  
Then his smile faded as he said, “But that’d be giving you too much credit. No, the one responsible for my mended ways isn’t here right now.” He frowned slightly, before muttering with irritation in his voice, “But she’s still managing to make this a bit of a moral dilemma for me.” His frown faded suddenly as he shrugged it off with a look of unconcern.  
  
Cordova grasped at the tiny string she thought she saw, pointing out quickly, “She wouldn’t want you to do this! You do this, and there’s no going back, Hostile. She’s the Slayer! Do you really think she’ll have anything to do with you if you do this?”  
  
“For the love of God, woman, why can’t you just *shut up*!” he snarled, approaching her quickly to grip both sides of the table and shake it slightly. She flinched as he got right in her face, menace in his eyes.  
  
But the sudden, violent motion was too much for his battered body to take without protest, and he winced slightly as the burns on his sensitive stomach, just beginning to heal, were stretched and pulled by his sudden movement.  
  
He was so close to her face that she could not have possibly missed the evidence of his pain.  
  
She smiled slowly. “Look at you,” she murmured in the contemptuous tone she had always used with him. “You can barely stand, you’re so weak! And you expect me to be afraid of you?” She sneered.  
  
“You’re right,” he whispered, not meeting her eyes, looking down as he remained leaning on the table. “I don’t feel so well.” His eyes slowly rose to meet hers as his lips turned up in a wicked smile. “Perhaps I’d feel better,” he whispered. “if I ate something.”  
  
Her eyes widened with the terrified realization of his meaning – moments before his face changed, and he sank his fangs into her throat.


	31. Chapter 31

Spike relished the surge of strength he felt flowing from her body to his, her blood flavored by a terror that was sweet to his taste. He had wanted to do this for a long, long time.  
  
He stopped long before draining her, however, when an unbidden image appeared in his mind – Buffy’s tearful, stricken face, accusing eyes burning into him in his bedroom, as he and his childe stood over the broken body of Riley Finn. He drew back from his victim, confusion and annoyance mingled in his eyes.  
  
She moaned with pain at the jarring impact as he dropped her head back down onto the table. Cautiously she opened terror-filled eyes, wondering at the cause of her reprieve, and how brief it would be.  
  
He rose up from the table, cursing as he slammed his fist down on it beside her, causing her to jump against her restraints.  
  
“Why should this even be a bloody *issue* for me?” he muttered. He pointed an accusing finger at her as he said, louder, insistent, “You deserve this!”  
  
Her mind was racing, desperately searching for a way out of this. She was amazed that the vampire had actually stopped his attack on her. Against all her learning and experience with vampires, he seemed to be having a sudden attack of conscience, debating whether or not to take her life.  
  
Now was not the moment to question, she realized. Now was the time to grab onto whatever slim hope she saw extended, and hold on for all she was worth. Keeping her voice soft, calm and cautious, she said, “Who are you to decide? You’ve done as much wrong as I have…possibly more. If you were blameless, perhaps you could be my judge…but you, *William*,” she said, pointedly emphasizing the name, her voice rising in strength as she met his eyes firmly, “are not one to talk to *me* about guilt – or to *decide* my guilt.”  
  
He stood there for a moment, digesting her words, and she was just relieved that he did not immediately fall on her again for daring to speak. He did not look up for a moment, deep in thought.  
  
Then, his cold blue eyes rose to meet hers, and her feeling of relief vanished.  
  
“You’re absolutely right, love,” he said in a soft, thoughtful voice. “I’m not in any position to judge you.”  
  
He slowly moved to untie her wrists and ankles. She lay there in stunned disbelief. This could not be happening! Was he really releasing her? She thought quickly about her options, and realized that they were still very few. He knew what he was doing. He had drained just enough blood from her that she was weak and dizzy – even loosed, still helpless. And he was looking stronger from the meal he had had. The trembling of his pain-wracked body had ceased, and if he was still in pain, he wasn’t showing it. He moved with an easy, predatory grace that was frightening to behold.   
  
The moment the restraints were off, he gripped the back of her neck and pulled her up to a sitting position, growling low in her ear, “Now you’re going to be a good little girl and not try anything. Right, love?”  
  
His voice and cool touch chilled her blood, and she nodded quickly, swallowing back her fear. “What are you going to do?” she asked in a tremulous voice, cringing at the helplessness and fear in her very small-sounding voice.  
  
“Not a bloody thing, love!” he laughed, an odd note of surprise in the sound. “That’s the beauty of it! But you’re going to come take a little walk with me, pet.” He took her arm and pulled her to her feet. She swayed a little, unsteady from the blood loss, and his hand under her elbow supported her for a moment. She was surprised by the odd, almost considerate gesture.  
  
“Can you walk, or shall I carry you?” he asked with a mocking lilt to his voice.  
  
“I can walk!” she snapped, her pride having taken a severe beating in the past few hours.  
  
He let out a soft chuckle as he held up a hand in mock surrender. “Just trying to be helpful,” he laughed.  
  
This sudden light-hearted, almost friendly air he had about him was terribly unsettling to her. She wondered fearfully what was behind it as she was led firmly but not painfully out of the laboratory and down the hallway.  
  
Just what was this vampire planning to do with her?  
  
Buffy paced restlessly through the kitchen, her eyes flashing with anger born of impatience and fear, her whole body rigid and trembling with nervous tension. Willow sat at the table, dozing with her head in her arms, resting on the table. Xander sat at the table as well, his eyes following Buffy’s frenetic movements. The two vampire children sat on the floor, against the wall, not because they had to, but just to keep some distance between themselves and the increasingly agitated Slayer, who appeared to be rapidly reaching full-on slay-mode.  
  
“Hey, Buff?” Xander said mildly, concern in his eyes. “You might wanna sit down. I think you’re scaring the vampires.” He paused, reflecting. “Which in most cases would be a good thing, but here – not so much.”  
  
Buffy looked startled, as if she had not been aware of her own actions. Then her defensive face came on, as she slumped down into a chair beside him and huffed, “They scare easy.”  
  
“Ok, number one, you would too,” Xander pointed out, causing her to feel a pang of guilt. And just how wonky was that, *Xander* calling *her* on her treatment of the vampires? she thought with a hint of a smile. “And two,” Xander went on, counting off his points on his fingers, “You’re scaring *me*. He told Will he was ok, Buffy. I’m sure he can get out of there okay now that the chip’s down. Don’t worry.”  
  
“Xander, he gave himself up willingly for me before. Will told him I’m still hurt. What if he just said he was okay to keep me from going up there and getting hurt again?” she pointed out.  
  
Xander gave a little sideways nod in reluctant acknowledgment of the possibility. “Or it’s possible,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes with his own steady gaze, “that he’s just taking advantage of his new chiplessness to work about a year’s worth of personal issues.”  
  
Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise, because she and Willow had not mentioned their suspicions as to what was keeping Spike to Xander, for fear of his reaction; but more because there was no anger, no accusation in his tone.  
  
Looking down at the table with a sigh, Buffy said wearily, “Probably.” She paused before going on. “And what am I supposed to do about it? I mean, he practically asked me to be his conscience, Xander! I can’t let him just think this is okay. But – in a way – I sort of think…” She hesitated, not wanting to say what she was thinking, a little ashamed of it.  
  
Xander nodded, already knowing. “Buffy, I know this Cordova is a person, needs to be brought to justice, all that,” he began slowly, his voice quiet and serious for once. “But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since we brought you out of there. Mostly about what she did to you – and how Spike sacrificed himself to get you out. Then I got to thinking – about all the stuff she must have done to *him* over the past year – about him having to just stand by and watch his – his *kids*, basically – be tortured, raped, abused…” He paused. “If he kills her,” he went on slowly, deliberately. “it won’t be because of the evil in him. It will be because of the *humanity* in him.”  
  
Buffy stared at her friend, amazed by the transformation that had taken place in his thinking. She nodded slowly. “It’s not right,” she agreed softly. “but it’s no more than anyone else would do.”  
  
She frowned then, thinking again. “But seriously, Xander…what if he’s not as okay as he wants me to think? What if he needs our help?” She stood up suddenly, a determined expression that was very familiar to Xander on her face.  
  
“Wake up, Will,” she said, shaking her friend’s shoulder gently.  
  
“What are we doing?” Xander asked her as he stood up as well, though he really already knew the answer.  
  
“I’m not gonna leave him there to maybe make it out, maybe not,” Buffy replied, fire in her eyes. “That’s not what he did for me. That stupid chip had him crippled more than I am now. We’re going in.”  
  
Without even having to think about it, Spike quickly punched in the clearance code for the hall on which his children were housed. The doors on this hall, as well as one main door at the end of it, were all controlled electronically by the control panel directly outside. Cordova gave him a look of surprise as he unlocked the main door, then entered the code to unlock all the individual doors as well.  
  
He shrugged and smiled coolly, “You pay attention, you learn things. Basic life lesson.” Something in his smile suggested that he did not expect her to live long enough to use the wisdom he had just imparted.  
  
“What are we here for?” she asked nervously, pulling slightly against his cool fingers on her arm.  
  
His grip held firm, as he smiled into her eyes and replied softly, “Justice.”  
  
When the main door opened, he pulled the reluctant general inside. A few heads up and down the hall were cautiously peeking out their doors, curious as to why the doors had unlocked, but no one had entered their rooms. A little hum of surprised murmuring began at the sight of their sire, very obviously in command of the hated and feared general.  
  
“Get the others,” Spike ordered the few nearest to him, who immediately began knocking on doors up and down the hall. Within minutes, all of Spike’s children were assembled around them – about a dozen or so vampires, all young, frightened, having known nothing but slavery and abuse since their turning. A dozen pairs of uncertain eyes turned on the only one in this place they trusted, the only one who saw them as more than mere possessions to be used.  
  
“What’s going on?” one of them ventured, hesitant to speak in front of the general, even as helpless as she now appeared, bruised, bleeding and captive. Speaking without permission was not permitted, and these prisoners had been trained well to obedience.  
  
“We’ve had a bit of a change in management, lads,” Spike informed them. “The chips are turned off. For good. You’re free,” he explained to the stunned group before him, who could hardly comprehend the idea, they had been slaves for so long.  
  
He shoved Cordova toward them, his first violence toward her since they had left her lab/torture chamber. “She can’t hurt you anymore,” he declared, his words louder as he addressed them with victory in his voice. “She’s tortured you and enslaved you – but it’s over now. Look at her. Now *she’s* the prisoner.”  
  
Her hate-filled eyes rose to meet his with venomous rage and defiance, and her breath caught in her throat at the triumphant vindication she saw there.  
  
Still meeting her gaze, but speaking to his children, Spike went on, “She told me earlier that I’m not fit to judge her. Well, she’s bloody right. I’ve done as much as she has to regret. But she’s no longer in conrol here; *I* am. And I say that you – her innocent victims – the ones whose lives she stole for her own gain -- *you* decide her fate.”  
  
Her eyes widened with the realization of what he was doing, and he smiled.  
  
Speaking to her now, he continued, “They had families – homes – lives – and you saw fit to take it away from them. Now let’s see what they feel is fitting to do with *your* life.”  
  
Terror rose in her eyes as she looked from him to his children – who were just beginning to realize the impact of what was happening here. They were finally free – and their tormentor was a prisoner in their hands!  
  
A low rumbling growl began to sound, though she couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from. One of them ventured close enough to shove her backward, and as she staggered a few steps, a delighted smile took over his face when he felt no pain. He looked around at his brothers in awe and wonder, as slow smiles began to form on their faces as well.  
  
Cordova, panicked, stepped backward, but by now they had circled her, and there was no open way of escape. Spike silently stepped back, out of the circle, a soft smile of satisfaction on his face, as he turned to head for the door.  
  
“Wait!” she almost screamed as one of the vampires now stalking her lunged toward her, then feinted back – toying with her. Her wild, panicked eyes found him, and she cried out, “You can’t do this! You can’t do this to me!”  
  
He stopped, half-turning to look her in the eyes and reply softly, “I didn’t do this to you, love. You did. If you can’t take the heat – shouldna built the bloody kitchen.”  
  
And with that, he turned and walked slowly away, as the sounds of vicious, primal snarls and terrified desperate screams filled the space behind him.


	32. Chapter 32

“Won’t this stupid van go any faster?” Buffy grumbled anxiously.  
  
Xander eyed the already very high speed on the odometer as he shot back, “Not without serious danger to our lives.”  
  
“Stupid piece of crap van!” Buffy muttered, irritated and impatient, but mostly scared to death.  
  
“Hey!” Willow gave her an offended look from the front passenger seat.  
  
The three of them were almost to the Initiative. They had left the vampires back at the mansion, which was showing a lot of trust, for Buffy. They were now de-chipped, and capable of defending themselves, and she had decided to tell them so before leaving them. It would be terrible to come back and find that Initiative soldiers had decided to show up at the mansion and they’d been hurt or captured because they didn’t know that they could defend themselves.  
  
And really, Buffy had very little fear of their leaving the mansion or causing any trouble. They really were like children, too scared and insecure still to attempt going it alone. Because of that, and their concern for their sire, Buffy knew that they would be there when they returned to the mansion. She had no idea what they would find when they reached the Initiative, and thought it might be safer for everyone if the children stayed at home.  
  
Just as they pulled into the parking lot at the rear of the building, the headlights carefully turned off, Buffy saw a lone figure walk slowly through the doors onto the lawn and stop – just standing there, apparently oblivious to their presence. A flash of platinum hair in the moonlight told her what she had already known, and she slid the door open and leapt from the van before it had even stopped moving.  
  
As she started toward him, he sank to his knees in the cool, wet grass, his hands over his face. Fear gripped her as she broke into a run. He was hurt!  
  
“Spike! Spike!” she called as she neared him, but he did not seem aware of her yet. She reached him and dropped to her knees in front of him, gently reaching up to pull his hands away from his eyes.  
  
Tears streaming down his face and shining in his eyes, he looked up at her sort of dazedly, as if just realizing she was there.  
  
“Buffy,” he whispered, his voice hushed and awed. “Oh, God, Buffy!” He shook his head slowly, at a loss, unable to find any other words.  
  
But relief flooded her, because she understood. He had not fallen to his knees in pain or weakness, but rather in wonder and overwhelming emotion.  
  
She saw in his eyes what he could not put into words. After a year – longer really, she thought, remembering the original Initiative – of being a prisoner, helpless and at the mercy of cruel captors who treated him no better than an animal, being unable to defend himself against their beatings, torture, humiliations, having absolutely no control over any aspect of his life…  
  
He was finally free.  
  
The chip was gone, his captors in the death throes of their defeat. And he was finally free to decide for himself again – to *live*.  
  
“Oh, Buffy,” he whispered again, clutching her hands in his as the tears kept flowing.  
  
Her own eyes filled with tears, and she gently freed one hand to lay a tender caress on his tear-stained cheek as she looked deep into his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat at the intense love she saw in his eyes as he held her gaze and leaned into her touch. When she saw the sob rising in his throat before he released it, she gently put her arms around him, pulling his head down onto her shoulder and holding him as he wept in her arms. Her fingers softly stroked through the damp blonde curls at back of his neck as she rocked slightly, offering him her wordless comfort and reassurance.  
  
Slowly, almost reverently, Xander and Willow approached. Willow held her laptop in her arms crossed in front of her chest.  
  
“Buffy,” she said softly, cautiously calling her friend’s attention back to the matter at hand.  
  
Buffy glanced up at her before gently pulling away from Spike, her hand still resting at the back of his neck. She sought out his eyes with hers and asked softly, “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”  
  
He automatically shook his head, then grimaced slightly and changed his response, nodding almost apologetically. “Bint did quite a number on me before they…” His words cut off suddenly, his eyes widening as they shot up to hers, guilt and fear showing through the sheen of tears.  
  
Her serious green eyes held his firmly, as she dropped her hand from him and asked in an expressionless tone, “What happened?”  
  
*Bloody hell.* His stomach dropped in fear – not so much a physical fear that she would harm him, as a sick, anxious feeling that what he was about to tell her would hurt and disappoint her, and cost them all the progress they had made in the past few days.  
  
“Well,” he began with a deep, shaky breath, looking at the ground, “she decided to resort to torture to get me to tell her where you were, love…and of course I wouldn’t…so that’s where we were when I realized the chip had shut down. I tricked her into untying me and I – I almost killed her…I wanted to,” he admitted hesitantly, then hurried on, shooting anxious, pleading eyes up to hers for a moment, “But I didn’t! I knew it – it wouldn’t be right, and you wouldn’t like it, so I didn’t kill her, love.” His eyes searched hers as he paused, but he could read nothing there.  
  
“Go on,” she prompted him, keeping her tone neutral.  
  
He had really hoped to have been able to stop his story there. He started again in a trembling voice, “I – we…” He hesitated, unsure how to put the rest of his account so that she would understand. Wincing at her anticipated reaction, he closed his eyes and blurted out, “I drained her ‘til she was too weak to stop me and turned her over to the ones she’d turned…let them decide what to do with her.”   
  
He cautiously opened apprehensive blue eyes to look at her, and saw that same impenetrable look on her face. His eyes downcast again, feeling increasingly vulnerable under her scrutiny, he added softly, “She had it coming, love. She killed them, she took everything from them. Who better to decide her fate? Government blokes’d just slap her wrist for bad procedure…wouldn’t care about them, what she did to them. I’m not in a place to judge her, right. I know I deserve the same as her, likely. But they didn’t. They didn’t deserve what she did to them.”  
  
He took another deep breath, a hard lump growing in his throat, constricting his voice as he struggled to go on, “So I took her to them and left her…so…so I guess I did kill her. I knew what was gonna happen, and I…”  
  
His words broke off as two small but powerful hands gripped his arms and jerked him forward.  
  
So it *was* to be physical harm, then, he thought ruefully. Resigning himself to accept the consequences of his actions, only hoping that he could somehow make her understand, he whispered, “Buffy, please, I…”  
  
His words were silenced by her lips on his, her tongue gently darting between his parted lips to steal his words away. He hesitated for a moment, stunned. This was the last thing he had expected. But then instinct and emotion took over and he put his arms around her and kissed her back.  
  
Willow looked anxiously at Xander, unsure of how he would take the Slayer’s public vampire-snogging on the Initiative lawn.  
  
He just sighed, and put a hand to his eyes as he turned away, muttering, “I was hoping not to be around when they started that!” He opened his eyes to see Willow’s wide green gaze focused on him in astonishment.   
  
“You knew?” she gasped.  
  
“Come on, Will. I’m not a *total* moron.” He rolled his eyes, but that put them back on Spike and Buffy, and he quickly turned away again.  
  
“Um, Buffy,” Willow reluctantly broke in again. “We still need to do this.”  
  
Buffy pulled away with an effort from the kiss, giving Spike a soft, reassuring smile before looking up at Willow.  
  
“Can anyone think of any reason we’d need to go back in there?” Xander asked.  
  
Spike’s eyes widened and he gripped Buffy’s arm, turning pleading blue eyes on hers. “Buffy – my – my other children…”  
  
She frowned slightly, uncertain. To take on a dozen more fledgling vampires, now unchipped and therefore dangerous – it was quite a risk. But the desperate hope in his eyes nearly broke her heart when she thought of crushing it by leaving his children here to die when the military came in. And if they were as obedient to Spike as Diana and Darian were…and Spike was following her lead…it could be all right.   
  
She made her decision in a moment. They would work it out.  
  
“Let’s go get them,” she said with a brief, decisive nod.  
  
“No,” he said quickly, as she helped him to his feet, then looked her in the eye to repeat firmly, “No, Buffy. I’ll go. I’ll bring them out here to you.”  
  
She searched his eyes, and saw that he wanted to spare her another scene like the one of Riley’s death. “Are there any soldiers left in there?” she asked with a frown of concern.  
  
He shook his head, looking her in the eye, his own solemn.  
  
She nodded slowly, satisfied that he would be safe going back in alone. “We’ll wait,” she told him, turning to lead the others back to the van.  
  
  
He returned about twenty minutes later, with his children in tow. By the time he got back to their quarters, Cordova had been torn to pieces. He had taken the time to have them clean up a bit before presenting them to Buffy. As surprisingly understanding as she was being about this, meeting her while soaked in the blood of a recent victim was not the sort of first impression he wanted them to make.  
  
He had explained to them that, chips or no chips, they were to obey the Slayer’s every command. Otherwise, he, or she, or both would give them a thrashing they’d never forget. The last thing he needed was one impulsive childe, high on the rush of new freedom, deciding to try his luck against the Slayer and buggering it all up for the others. So he made it very clear to them that disrespect to Buffy would carry severe consequences.  
  
So it was that as Buffy got out of the van, it was a very subdued little band of vampires that met her.  
  
“I don’t wanna seem rude,” she said immediately, “but we’ll have time for introductions later. Let’s get everybody in the van, and then we’ll lock this place down and get out of here.”  
  
“Getting everybody into the van” proved to be a challenge. Even with all but the first of the rear seats folded down to make a flatbed, it was impossibly crowded. But these vampires were newly freed slaves, ones who fortunately did not require oxygen, and they were willing to put up with the crowding and temporary discomfort, as it meant leaving the Initiative behind forever.  
  
Three of them crammed onto the middle seat with Buffy and Spike, who didn’t mind the extreme closeness after their recent harrowing separation. She held his hand tightly in both of hers, resting in her lap for all to see, and he felt a warm thrill of pride at her open affection.  
  
As they drove back to the mansion, she unabashedly looked him over, taking her first good look at anything besides his face since he had stepped out onto the lawn.   
  
“You found your coat,” she murmured softly, her eyes widening, and a sort of shy look coming over her face at the recollection of where he had to have found it, and what that would have revealed to him.  
  
He smiled back at her, stroking her hair back from her face with his free hand. “A lot more, too,” he whispered.  
  
She glanced down again, and her eyes widened more when she realized that the coat was *all* he was wearing. It was all he had been able to find of his clothes after Cordova had released him from the table and he had knocked her out. She had probably intended to keep it for herself, he thought.  
  
Buffy frowned at the vicious burns that covered his chest and stomach, clearly visible under the half-open garment, saying softly, “That looks bad, Baby. We need to get you taken care of.”  
  
He smiled at her as he shook his head dismissively. “It’s nothing, pet. It’ll heal.”  
  
He didn’t tell her that the blood he had taken from the general had already helped to heal them to a small degree, and what she saw now was actually a slight improvement on the way it had looked earlier. And though he didn’t want to admit it to her, his victory over Cordova and emotional release following it had actually drained quite a bit of his strength and he was beginning to feel the pain again.  
  
When his eyes met hers again, he saw the tenderness there that told him she knew anyway. She slowly leaned in, her eyes on his until her closeness to his face prevented it, to place a feather-light brush of a kiss on a mostly-healed cigarette burn on his cheek.  
  
She pulled away to gaze again into his wide, startled eyes. She leaned in again to place an only slightly less gentle kiss on his lips, never breaking eye contact this time. Then she drew back to speak the words she had been trying to say with her actions, as overwhelming gratitude for all his sacrifices for her the past few days brought fresh tears to her eyes.  
  
“Thank you.”


	33. Chapter 33

As soon as they reached the mansion, Willow and Xander set about making arrangements for their unexpected guests. Buffy had decided that they should hide out at the mansion for a few more days, until they were sure that any Initiative soldiers possibly staking out her house were gone. Spike had been pretty sure that it would be safe to go back to her house, as the soldiers would have left once they had made their little raid and discovered that the house had been deserted, but Buffy had thought it best to play it safe.  
  
According to the general’s notes, when the special unit came to investigate the lock down, they would call in all the soldiers who had been a part of the Initiative and reassign them. So, Buffy thought it safe to assume that once the special unit had been and gone, it would be safe to return to their homes – but not before.  
  
Buffy and Spike were still too busy drinking in each other’s presence to be of much help to Willow and Xander in the search for what seemed to be an impossible amount of bedding. Not to mention beds. But Willow didn’t mind, and Xander was just glad to have something to keep his eyes occupied in a direction other than the tattered old sofa in the corner, where the Slayer sat with her vampire lover.  
  
Buffy slowly drew away from the latest of many kisses, and let out a little half-moan, half-whine. “My mom’s gonna kill me,” she pointed out. “One vampire in the basement was enough to make her wanna leave town. Now I’ve got what – like – fifteen?”  
  
“Exactly,” Spike nodded with a smile. His expression became thoughtful for a moment before he went on, “You know – they don’t have to stay in your house, Buffy – unless you think they should,” he hurriedly added, not wanting to appear to be trying to put one over on her, wanting to be sure she knew the decision was still in her hands.   
  
“But,” he went on cautiously. “this old place is just sitting here…abandoned…no one making any use of it…it’s kind of an ideal habitat so to speak for vampires, love…”  
  
She smiled slowly as his idea began to take shape in her head. “We could fix it up a little…I mean, it’s *really* run down…”  
  
“Nothing much wrong with it from a vampire’s point of view, love,” he pointed out. “Needs a good cleaning and some proper furniture, but then it’ll be right perfect.”  
  
She nodded slowly, her smile widening as she thought about it. But there was still a certain apprehension in her eyes. Her smile fading, she looked him in the eye and asked softly, “Will they always listen to you, Spike?”  
  
He did not respond for a moment. “They’ve never known anything but slavery, love,” he finally replied, holding her gaze with his sapphire eyes. “All they know is doing what they’re told. And I’m their sire. They’ll do as I say.”  
  
“Even when you’re not around?” she asked anxiously. “Not just when you’re with them?”  
  
He nodded. “Oh, yes, love. The sire’s hold on a childe is a bit stronger than that. But I figure to be close by most of the time.”  
  
Her smile became playful as she pulled him closer to her and said knowingly, “Oh, there’ll be a lot of time when they’ll be on their own, Baby. They’re not the only thing you’re gonna have to take care of.”  
  
His eyes darkened with desire at the look on her face, and he held her tighter as well. “Well, of course, I’ll have to find time for *all* my responsibilities,” he conceded, kissing her again.  
  
She returned the kiss aggressively, pushing him back against the couch under her, pulling him closer to her with a hand behind his head and an arm around his waist. When his hand at the small of her back began a slow slide downward, she felt her heartbeat quicken, and one of her hands somehow found its way between them, trailing downward from his waistband.  
  
“Ahem!” Xander said loudly, walking into the room with about a half dozen fledglings in tow.  
  
Buffy and Spike quickly separated, aware of the completely undignified position they had just been caught in, and how unlikely the sight was to create any kind of respect in the vampire children in their charge.  
  
As if reading their thoughts, Xander muttered as he leaned down to set a stack of blankets on the unoccupied part of the sofa, “Not in front of the children, Buffy.”  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes at him, but she was blushing bright red.  
  
“We *really* need to find some bloody privacy!” Spike muttered to her under his breath.  
  
Suddenly, Buffy was *absolutely certain* that the soldiers would have left her house by now. “Better safe than sorry” no longer sounded like such good advice to her. She suddenly jumped to her feet, pulling Spike with her by the hand. “You know, we are *soo* gonna need a lot more blankets than that! And – and pillows and stuff…” she began, nodding innocently when faced with Xander’s skeptical smirk. “We have lots of stuff at my house…Spike and I’ll go get them...”  
  
“Whatever,” Xander said, shaking his head.  
  
“Hey, Buff?” Willow stopped her just before they rushed out the door.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Willow continued, all wide-eyed innocence, as she placed the keys to her van in Buffy’s hand. “You might wanna test them out – make sure they’re – warm enough, or whatever.”  
  
Buffy’s blush heightened, and her eyes widened in shock. Was this coming from *Willow*? “Shut up,” she muttered as she dragged Spike behind her out the door, not wanting to give anyone else the chance to say anything.  
  
  
Ten minutes later, Buffy slowly, deliberately closed and locked the front door of her house behind them, turning to brace her back against it as she gave Spike a slow smile.  
  
“Alone at last,” she said in an exaggeratedly suggestive voice.  
  
He laughed softly, taking her in his arms again as she slowly backed him toward the staircase. But by the time they reached them, their lips were already pressed together again, and neither of them was watching where they were going, so they just tumbled down onto the stairs.  
  
Giggling, feeling like a schoolgirl again, Buffy pushed off of him and pulled him to his feet. Wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close, she whispered against his lips, “Maybe we should try to make it upstairs.”  
  
“Right,” he whispered back, kissing her again.  
  
With an extreme force of will they separated just far enough and long enough to make it up the stairs to her room, where Buffy wasted no time in performing her usual routine of pushing him down onto the bed, as they hastily fumbled at the confines of each other’s clothing.  
  
But tonight, Spike had other ideas.  
  
“You know, love,” he murmured in a low, throaty voice that sent shivers all through her, as he slipped her shirt back off her shoulders with smooth, cool fingers, and then slowly traced those fingers from her shoulders down her arms to intertwine with hers. “I’m thinking we ought to try a different position.”  
  
And suddenly he flipped her over so that she was on her back on the bed, and he was over her, pinning her to the mattress by her hands he held in his own. Instinctively she pulled up against his hands, though she didn’t really want to get away – and found that she couldn’t, anyway. His grip was too strong.  
  
Her eyes widened with realization as he gave her a slow, seductive smile. Had he always been this strong, and only restrained by the chip in his head? The chip that had made him unable to resist as she had held him like this, pinned to the bed in his suite at the Initiative? Not that he had wanted to resist – as she didn’t want to, now.  
  
The look in his eyes made her feel weak all over, and the shivers started again up and down her spine – but in a very, very good way. That look said that Spike had had enough of submission. Tonight was her turn.  
  
Slowly, a wicked glint in his ice-blue eyes, he brought her wrists together above her head and held them with one hand, freeing the other to wind a slow trail down her body. His leisurely, light touch made promises that she was desperate for him to fulfill by the time it finally reached its destination, and her back arched up in pleasure at the anticipated contact.  
  
“Oh, God! Oh, Spike!” she gasped, and he smiled with satisfaction as he continued. This time he was the one administering the divine torture, using his hand with an expert touch to bring her desperately close, while still holding her back.  
  
“Please, Spike, oh please!” she moaned, and it was almost a sob, as he dropped his head to her throat to kiss her, his very talented fingers still working, gentle and firm at all the right places and moments, to bring her to the brink of her release.  
  
She longed to pull him closer, to kiss him, to *touch* him, but was at his mercy, restrained by his gentle yet powerful grip.  
  
She gasped again as she felt herself nearing the edge, only to remain unfulfilled, by his teasing touch.  
  
“Do you want me, Buffy?” he whispered in her ear, following the question with more soft kisses from below her ear down to her shoulder.  
  
She knew exactly what it was that he was really asking. “Yes! Oh, God, yes, I want you!” she gasped. “Please, please, Spike, *now*!”  
  
And so he granted her urgent plea, and released her wrists to hold him to her as they moved together in perfect rhythm, her desperate clutching fingers raking her nails lightly down his back and eliciting a gasp of pleasure from those perfect, trembling lips.  
  
Buffy smiled to herself, in the moment before her ecstasy consumed her. There were still some things within her control.  
  
  
Hours later, they lay still entwined with each other in her bed, utterly spent. Spike leaned up on one arm, just gazing at her contentedly as she snuggled against him, his free hand idly playing with her hair.  
  
“You know,” she said teasingly, “You just proved, you’ve still got a lot to learn about being good.”  
  
“Right, love,” he replied, an eyebrow raised as his twinkling blue eyes caught hers. “Like the whole part about lying to your friends so you can sneak off and shag your boyfriend? That part of being good?”  
  
Buffy looked momentarily shamed – but not too much. She smiled, “Okay, so I’ve got a lot to learn, too.”  
  
“Yeah,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her closer. “But I’m not in any hurry for you to learn it, love. I’m happy knowing you’ve still got a bit of bad in you when I want it.” And he leaned in to kiss her again, slowly and thoroughly, possessing her with his mouth.  
  
When they finally parted, her eyes were hazy with a heady mixture of pleasure and exhaustion. “Me too, Baby,” she whispered as she leaned her head back on his arm beneath her and gazed contentedly up into his adoring eyes. “Me too.”  
  
FIN


End file.
